


Northern Fever

by SkadiTheHuntress



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angry Finn, Attempt at Humor, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, But Saaga Is No Better, Character (OC) Saaga Wainio, Finnish Girl, Focusing Heavily on Friendship, Friendship, Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, Getting to Know Each Other, I have a language thing, Implied Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Male-Female Friendship, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Multi, Possible Character Death, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Sorry Not Sorry, Swearing in Finnish, beware of the fiery Finn, if you squint real hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 126,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadiTheHuntress/pseuds/SkadiTheHuntress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you find yourself in a oddly familiar world, surrounded by strange men, with no place to call home? One misfortunate Finn will be forced to figure that out much to her confusion. Reluctantly, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides the stuff I explain below, I also use italics as emphasis but I'm pretty sure you can see the difference when it truly matters. As for the disclaimer: I don't own anything that we all know Tolkien created.
> 
> For the future, let me clear this out:
> 
> "Speaking common tongue."
> 
> " _Speaking Elvish_."
> 
> " **Speaking Khuzdûl**."
> 
> " **Speaking Black Speech**."
> 
> And that's all, folks. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

  

 

 **Prologue**  

 

 

_Someday you will look back and know exactly why it had to happen._

_\- Unknown_

   

They were closing in on her.

Heartbeat continued to pound in her throat after every leap she took, and by it's sound it had turned into a war-drum. Leaves and branches swat against her cheeks and scratch against her skin as the woman rushes past them. There was no peace for her poor lungs that burned from exertion; burned like she had inhaled embers.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Faster.

Her legs, likewise, had turned into jelly a long time ago but despite that she pushed herself to run harder, faster, further! Fuck it, it was starting to feel like she had noodles where her legs used to be. It was like her knees were caving in and she almost stumbled on her own feet.

_This cannot be the end of me! It won't be! I'm gonna have the biggest bitch-fit of the century after this, I fucking swear. Fucking wolves. Really, really, super-hate wolves right now. Creepers! The whole lot of them!_

Those are her panicked thoughts along with the monologue of  _oh god, oh god, oh god_ as the woman scrambles over a huge tree trunk. Her trembling fingers slip over crumbling bark and moist moss that sticks under her fingernails, and her ribs press against the trunk as she hastily heaves her body over it. If she could have, the woman would have preferred to scream her extremely pissed offthoughts up to heavens - a much more fitting act for her personality - but she just couldn't.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _fuck!"_ Is the panicked hiss that escapes between gritted teeth instead as she swats spruce branches off her way.

Shallow breaths wheeze their way out as she stops for a split second to decide the next direction to run in. Then a gasp punches its way out of her as those howls echo from between the trees again, seeming to come ever closer, sounding ever more excited, and strangely enough less and less mournful like wolves normally did. The woman brushes sweat slicked hair off her eyes that scan the greenery. The howls made her knees clack together.

_Goddammit! I should have never spoken against the thinning of wolf population. Wasn't the brightest of my ideas. How are they going to know I was on their side? They're animals! You stupid, stupid girl. Keep running._

It is truly a hopeless situation. The woman sprints forward, decides in favor of the left, and gets to get a few miserable running steps before her foot entangles with tree roots. She goes down flying with a loud yelp and even louder crash. Quite honestly, she expected to get a face full of twigs and dirt but instead, much to her horror, she falls right through the bushes that snap broken under her bodyweight, sending her hurtling down.

" _Oh!"_

Branches and sticks slam across her face and for a moment she is afraid of them poking her eye out. Then the spiraling land meets her body as she comes down shoulder first, and as the ground slopes downwards she goes with it, helplessly rolling to a small clearing. She was a bundle of bright clothes, messy hair, flailing limbs, and all the while she managed to squeak and yelp as the her fall just continued.

Finally her uncontrollable spinning comes into a jolting stop. The woman is left gasping and spitting leaves out of her mouth. The world has now stopped doing a merry-go-around, but her ears still rang and as wind has been knocked out of her, she curls protectively in on herself, hacking a couple of times to get the air flowing. The groan she makes afterwards is soft and miserable. She even tries to crack her eyes open but the world just keeps on spinning.

Holy fucking hell, that _hurt_.

Her muscles ache and tremble. Her knees and elbows were scratched, and later there would be - without a doubt - massive bruises. She was drenched in sweat, exhausted, and completely, utterly, unmistakably pissed off. The threat of the hunting wolf-pack is still nagging at the back of her brain, so gritting her teeth the girl rolls on her knees, ready to run, because really, what else was she to do? The woman raises on her wobbly legs while staggering embarrassingly like a baby giraffe, takes a look at her surroundings, and freezes.

" _Mitä helv-?!_ "(1)

"Apparently," says the man with the most ridiculous hat the woman has ever seen, "we are not the only ones hunted tonight."

The woman blinks furiously at the people, while dry leaves fall out of her hair, floating towards the ground in spinning circles, mimicking her own movement just a second ago. Her shoulder aches from the memory, heartbeat pulsating all the way down her arm. Truth to be told, her appearance might have been a complete disaster but these guys, they _really_ took the cake. There wasn't even competition to speak of.

"Well, are you going to do something?" A black haired man impatiently snaps at her, his eyes roaming over her mud-smudged face. "Or are you just gonna stand there and keep on bleeding?" He was growling as if presuming she was an actual threat to them. 

_What a joke! I'm sorry, but in what universe does that make sense?_

"Now, now, Master Kíli," the tall, old man soothes as the dark haired shortie is dragged back into line by others. "Please give her a moment to gather her thoughts. Can you not see how upset she is? My lady, is all well?"

Her mouths goes running before her brain catches up. Damn adrenaline.

"Living the dream here. You?"

Now that she has time to take a proper look, it seems that behind the tall old man clad in grey clothing, there's a group of short - excuse me, real frikkin' tiny - men who may not impress with their height but rather with presence and appearance. The men's eyes are huge and black, staring at her with something akin to wonder of never having seen a woman before, which was a ridiculous notion of course. What the hell were _they_ staring at? She was the one with the privilege to stare until her eyes fell out of her head, not them.

Rapid inhale. Slow exhale. Her fingers keep twitching from adrenaline and eyes flicker around for a possible escape route.

Some of the group members look curious -  like the young, dark haired one - and some purely suspicious, their massive eyebrows furrowed in confusion and surprise, axes at the ready. Yes, axes. Seriously. Clad in heavy clothes, fur, metal and some kind of a travel armor they looked like angels in the young woman's eyes; absolutely mind-bogglingly weird, crazy warrior angels, but she wasn't exactly in a situation where she could complain beyond honest confusion. 

"Mitä helvettiä teillä on päällä?"(2) She blurts out in disbelief and squints her eyes suspiciously at the group. They didn't look like hunters - well, they sort of did - but not in the way the woman was used to. They looked right  _primitive._ Their axes didn't look like they were made in mind of cutting wood as you could crack someone's skull open with those gigantic things.

The female swallows and feels her palms sweat up, as if she was suddenly turned into a fumbling, nervous teenager once more. She barely resists the urge to run into the opposite direction, be there wolves or not.

Something wasn't right here. This whole day was spinning out of control faster than she could comprehend.

"Speak in a language we all know, **forest witch**!" One of the men growls at her. When her head snaps in his direction, the warrior takes a threatening step forward, and the woman can see his grip tightening on axe-handle as he measures her with black, calculative eyes. In return the female staggers a startled step backwards, almost tripping on her own sneakers, because _holy fuck did that axe look way too real;_  wondering if this was a God-sent cue for her to run away as fast as she fucking could.

The warrior was a bundle of bulging muscles, and the furry vest and leathery coat only managed to strengthen the picture of  _look out, I'm real dangerous_ _._ Not to mention the  _scars_ and the strange, blue tattoos on his bare head, the axes and swords and... and everything about him basically. And not just him though, the whole group looked like they had stepped out of a fantasy movie. 

And what was it with this fascination with beards? One of them could have even passed for Santa Claus come Christmas, take for instance one of the older guys who had a long, white beard sprouting from his jaw. Could they have been just really dedicated LARPers? It was a stretch but it seemed to be the day of the unlikely.

But in the end, who cared? They were people. The woman had found someone or - surprisingly enough - lots of someones.

"Oh,  _English?_ Hah,are you kidding me?" She gasps out a nervous laugh and then sobers when no one returns her mirth, "..no? Part of the act? Okay then. They're coming, the wolves, they're coming. I was running away from them and honestly, I wouldn't mind company," the woman manages to wheeze out in English as it seemed to be the only language the men responded to. Her entire sentence comes out in a rush, but it cracks the ice between her and the group, spurring everyone into voicing their concerns all at once.

"We have to get out of here!"

"We can't! We have no ponies; they bolted."

"I'll draw them off."

The newcomer's eyes settle on the other funny looking older man, also disturbingly small in height, and _was that lichen on his face?_  Seriously, had she started hallucinating from the lack of oxygen and utter exhaustion? Was she dreaming? Was it possible to be both at the same time? Was there a chance she has been drugged and thus the vivid visions? 

And was that a fucking _bird_ chirping worriedly under the old man's filthy, brown hat? The woman squints her eyes at the sight and then they widen almost comically. She draws in a sharp intake of breath.

_Holy fuck, yes, it is a real bird._

"What. The. Actual. Fuck," she mutters, eyes round.

"These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you," the tall man clad in grey cape and hat protests seriously. He towered like a giant above everyone else, even the woman. A funny looking fellow he was as well, with nose hair so long it looked like a pair of small mice were trying to crawl their way out of there. But thank god, no more actual animals presented themselves. What a disturbing image that would have made.

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits; I'd like to see them try." 

And then the other confidently smirking grandfather, this one clad in brown and a bird-hat, is gone in a  _whoosh_ , whisked away by a sledge pulled by rabbits. Stunned, the woman staggers out of the sledge's way, staring bewilderedly after it a long time even when it is gone from her sight.

Rabbits.  _Rabbits._

"Olen tulossa hulluksi. _Hah!_  Tämä on älytöntä,"(3) the woman mutters to herself and gasps out a laugh, hand pressing against her hurting side which pulses in pain from her rapid breaths that just refused to calm down. The female's face remains crunched in a disbelieving expression as she takes a double-look at the group of the strangest people she has ever seen. Nope, they were still there. This was still happening. And they were still staring at her with astonishment than matched hers.

Un-fucking-believable.

But at least the warrior-man had lowered his axe, though he was still eyeing her suspiciously.

"Come on!"

"That means you as well, young lady. Off we go!" The encouragingly smiling, extra small sized Santa Claus prompts and waves her to run along. When the warrior-man grunts something at the other, he is only rewarded with a impatient swat on his arm. Santa Claus was still nodding for her to follow.

"Right, of course, yes," she agrees incredulously.

Then the whole company is on the move and as the young, lost woman deems appropriate in the situation, she trails after them but not without a few exasperated huffs. She decides to go just because Father Christmas asked so nicely. 

After a short run they are out of the woods and land on a rocky plain, sprinting across it. With her longer legs the woman keeps the pace easily enough, settling on running in the middle of the group, still throwing terrified looks over her shoulder. The sun was now shining above them but the nightmare was far from over. Heart throbbing in her throat, the woman desperately compels herself to awaken from this horrid, bizarre dream.

 _Anything,_ she swears,  _I'll do anything to stop this madness._

Those are her thoughts as one of the men - as wide as he was tall - sprints past her with his pots and pans clacking and banging loudly enough to scare them out of his way, his auburn beard flowing in the wind after him. The female would have laughed at the pure  _absurdity_ of the situation hadn't she been afraid to lose the rest of her breath. These bearded dudes might have been sturdy and heavy in build but damn, they were pretty  _fit_. They could even keep up with her.

Next the group takes cover behind a large, jagged rock and gratefully the woman throws herself against the hard surface, chest heaving, and hands tugging her blue running-jacket more tightly closed. It was a futile attempt to make her feel more secure.

_What in the devil's name is going on out here? What the hell? What. The. Hell._

As low growling reaches her ears the woman tenses, fresh droplets of sweat forming on her already damp forehead. The thing - the wolf - was right above them on the rock, and soundlessly the woman raises her palm over her mouth to muffle a squeak.

"Shut it!" Another sharp-nosed man growls at her, silver beads in his extravagantly shaped hair and beard jingling from the sharp movement.

The woman is incapable of raising her gaze because of the all-consuming terror that had suddenly washed over her, so instead she just looks straight forward and nods, tears pooling in eyesight and blurring the view of the grassy landscape. From the corner of her eye she can see an older man with complex white braidings smack the star-head. Apparently there was a lot of behave-or-get-a-fist-in-your-face going on in this group. A small comfort it was.

_This is it then. We're going to die. I'm going to die. I'm so sorry, mom. It wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't-.. I swear, I-.._

What happens next is over in a flash. One of the short, dark-haired men - the only one without a proper beard - steps forward and out of their hiding place.

_Now we will surely be discovered! What are you thinking, you absolute moron?!_

The raggedly good-looking guy - if you are into that sort of thing - shoots something down with his bow. It's a swift movement, fluent by no doubt years and years of practicing. He grabs an arrow, flings it on the bow, everything followed by a flex of his muscles and squint of an eye, and then the next thing the rest of them knew, the arrow was already flying to its mark. There were two thumps: one as something distantly resembling a man hits the ground but the woman's concentration is quickly diverted elsewhere.

The thump number two? Came from a proper monster. It looked like a wolf but it wasn't, it's jaw huge and mouth gaping and drooling, it's _head_ almost bigger than the woman herself. She would have screamed hadn't the plain panic frozen her in place.

All at once the short men are on the creature, whacking it down with their axes and swords. The woman on the other hand twirls around, her mouth gaping, and stares at the grey surface of the rock while trying to comprehend what she just witnessed. She blinks repeatedly, trying to dry the tears of terror that were threatening to spill.

"Holy crap. Holy motherfuc-... That's no wolf," she splutters in awe under her breath. In her utter bafflement of the insane sight she cannot even feel bad for the cruel end of the deformed animal. Then another howl rips trough the air, freezing everyone on their tracks. Apparently the animal was truly wolfish enough to hunt in a pack. 

"Move. Run!"

"Come on then. Get a move on!"

The woman pushes herself forward and eventually the rocky ground beneath her striped trainers turns into grass, and distant howls and growls turn into near ones. She could see them all now; monsters riding atop of monsters, screaming, gurgling and laughing at their pitiful attempts at escaping. The female concentrates on scrambling onwards, not daring to look behind anymore.

_This is a dream. This is a dream. Wake up. Wake-the-fuck-up right now! This isn't really happening._

"There they are!"

_Nope. No they are not. Please, no._

"This way! Hurry!"

_Well, shit._

It hits the woman very quickly that their mad dash for freedom is doomed to be a suicide. They are on a clearing now; dry, low grass swaying around them, giving a perfect view of the approaching riders.

Were those actually humans riding on top of those gruesome animals?

By the look of it the riders were really dirty and gloomily dressed, but maybe that was because she couldn't really make out anything else than a grey dots against the background, but the riders did seem to have two feet and two hands. What other could they have been than humans? Was this seriously some kind of a practical joke? If it was, the woman couldn't help but admire the sheer detail of it but that didn't mean she was laughing. Far from it. The opposite, actually. She was on the verge of a panicked tear-flood about the size of Niagara falls. If this was a prank she was going to murder the person behind this in cold blood.

"There's more coming!"

"Kíli! Shoot them!"

Kíli - the dark haired archer, apparently - does as he is told, taking down a few wolf-creatures and their riders. It looks disturbingly real as they hit the ground with pain filled yelps and the woman cannot help but stare, feeling the legs under her quiver.

"Where is Gandalf?"

_Who is Gandalf?_

"He has abandoned us!"

 _Abandoned us_ where,  _exactly?! Who is Gandalf?!_

Their miss-matched group huddles closer together, backs against yet another rock, surrounded. The man with a very distinctive bald spot and tattoos on the top of his head - the one with the muscles and fur coat - roughly pushes the woman behind him. She doesn't even care, hands gripping onto to the back of the man's vest for one desperate moment, huge eyes glued to the approaching stuff of nightmares. The balding man couldn't look more like a experienced warrior even if he tried, so the woman was more than willing to take her chances hiding behind him.

So what if the short men were LARPers? Surely they had swung those swords and axes around enough to be able to do some real damage? They had certainly taken the wolf-monster down easily enough.

"Hold your ground," one of the men hollers, voice laced with authority. The woman cannot see to which of the men the voice belongs to and doesn't particularly care. It's the meaning behind the words that throws her off the loop.

"No, please," she mutters rapidly under her breath. The tattooed man turns to look at her sharply and instantly she is resolved to begging. "I can't _die._ No, no, no, no, please, no..."

"This way, you fools!"

"Come on, move! Quickly, all of you! Go, go, go!"

"Move, woman!"

She is shoved in front of a dark hole, gaping like a wound between the rocks. When she hesitates for just one second while gathering her courage, the warrior-man pushes her over the edge and into the darkness. With a shriek the woman rolls to the bottom with very little grace but with a big grimace, dust then slowly settling over her crumpled form. On the verge of bursting out crying she stays where she landed, just gasping for breath, her arms raised over her head protectively while she does her best to fight against hysteria.

_Insanity. My life is pure insanity._

The man in grey - Gandalf - seems content after his countdown of the company members when everyone has reached the bottom of the cave. He steps hurriedly to the side as one of those almost human-like creatures rolls down the hole as well, arrow protruding out of it's neck.

The woman's hand raises to cover her mouth, freezing in front of the violent sight. So, alright, this was definitely happening. No amount of makeup could make an arrow-wound look that real. Mesmerized, she stares at the dark blood pooling out of the creatures neck, the whole sight turning her nauseous. She turns her eyes away and retches dryly, but nothing comes up. She can't remember when she last ate. All her cough does is make the dust on the ground swirl and get into her eyes and nostrils.

"Elves," the man on the taller side, the one with authority in his voice and posture, spits as if the word itself somehow offended him.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or not?" The warrior-man shouts.

"Follow it, of course!"

"I think that would be wise," Gandalf muses and turns to look at the woman, still crumpled on the floor but now slowly and stubbornly trying to raise back on her feet. She looked like she had been dragged to hell and back - possibly a few times in a row. The wizard watches the woman heave herself up from the ground and glare at them.

"Are you unharmed, my lady?"

"What does it look like?" She hisses back with a surprising amount of spite for such a small being. 

The woman finally finds her balance, knees locked together, face ghostly white and sweaty, hair sticking to her smudged forehead. She was trembling, a hand balancing her against the rock wall and another one held against her chest as if she was trying to stop her heart from jumping out right through her skin.

"This is a dream. This is a dream, it has to be. This is... this is _completely_ insane," she stutters as she sways forward and sideways. There is white noise singing in her ears, washing out everything else. Still, somehow, she managed to keep the force of her bewildered glare.

As if consisting of one thought, two of the men step closer to her. They are the young, real good-looking ones, one with dark brown hair (Kíli?) and other with golden. Their hands are reached towards her, palms up and reassuring, as if they were trying to get a terrified animal to calm down.

"Are you going to faint?"

"I don't know," the woman confesses incredulously as her face loses feeling. "I've never fainted before in my life but considering the... the circumstances, I think I might. I feel like I deserve it. Screw concsiousness. It doesn't make sense anymore, serves the bastard right."

"Should we catch you?" Kíli the archer asks nervously. He is looking at her like she was a crazy person and honestly, that's what the woman was starting to feel like.

"Oh," she smiles meekly, "yes, please." And then her eyes roll back in her head. She blacks out when her skull smacks against the ground.

She should not have trusted those guys to catch her.

 

 

* * *

Translation from Finnish to English:

(1) Mitä helv-..? - What the he-..?

(2) Mitä helvettiä teillä on päällä? - What the hell are you wearing?

(3) Olen tulossa hulluksi. Hah! Tämä on älytöntä. - I'm going crazy. Hah! This is insane.

 


	2. Monachopsis

**Monachopsis:**   _The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place._

 

"Olenko minä taivaassa?(1)"

Her brown eyes are filled with bright light. It's the kind you see when you stare right into sun at Midsummer Day when it is burning brightest and after which you cannot see a thing because the sun has burned its shape into your irises. The woman's spine was stiff from the lack of movement and muscles ache painfully.  _Everything_ aches.

"I am not sure what do you mean but many of my patients have the same exact question when they awake so allow me to make a bold guess at your words, my lady. You are in the Last Homely House East of the Sea, Rivendell. The house of Lord Elrond. It is the last days of June of the year 2941."

The bright light is slowly dimming. When she cracks her murky brown eyes open, the woman can see a fuzzy shape of a man bending over the bed. A cool hand touches her forehead and brushes aside loose strands of hair that had been annoyingly tickling her nose. The feeling she was otherwise experiencing was frightfully similar to floating on clouds. Or marshmallows. Oh yeah, please, let it be marshmallows.

The woman can feel the sunlight on her face and smell the faint scent of flowers somewhere nearby. Everything is comfortable, soft and warm. 

She must be in a hospital. Apparently her fever dreams had gained a new level entirely and she was so very thankful the whole ordeal was over now. Seriously, wolves? Stunted men with axes? _Good-looking stunted men_ with axes. But still, stunted. And still, good-looking.

_From which crook of my mind had that dream crawled out of?_

"How are you feeling?"

"Väsyttää," the woman admits while blinking repeatedly and rising to lean on her elbows, grimacing while doing so. She takes a look around the room in confusion, marveling at the roughness of the sheets and decorative, wooden ornaments that seemed to be carved in the paneling. She clears her throat, "ja jalkoihini sattuu ihan toden teolla, _auts...(2)_ "

"Pardon me, my lady, but I do not speak this language of yours."

Giving her doctor a pointed look, the young woman slowly repeats: "I said I feel tired. And that my legs are sore. What on earth happened to me?"

She looks down at her sheet-covered aching body and furrows her dark eyebrows. Well,  _something_  had certainly happened going by the soreness.

"Of that I have no doubt, but the pain shall not linger with you for much longer, I'm sure. Mithrandir has told us you managed to escape from the wargs a few nights ago. That was very impressing for a child of Man."

"Woman," she corrects automatically, her mind so out of focus she couldn't even properly register the doctor's words. "I'm already twenty-five. Man? No _._ Child? No."

The man with _the most_ stunning brown hair does not argue. He merely bends to look at her with cold, calculative eyes while hair slides down his shoulders to frame his face like a shining waterfall. Now that the woman takes a proper look at him, there is something unsettling about the doctor, something almost otherworldly. He looks odd and different. So different in fact, that it makes the woman's breath get stuck in her throat when their gazes lock, and for her eyes to widen until they almost feel ready to fall out of her skull.

She was really starting to get used to that feeling as she had done a lot of incredulous staring as of late.

Her doctor looks _almost_ human but there was something definitely eerie about his facial features; mostly about his picture-perfect porcelain skin, dark and long eyelashes, and pointed, almost aristocratic shape of his face. People were not supposed to look like that in real life. He looked like he had popped right out of a magazine cover which didn't make any sense since even the people  _in_ the magazine cover didn't look like the person _on_ the magazine cover after photoshop. But no, here he was, living and breathing. Like a fucking perfect Ken-doll but even prettier.

 _Holy crap on crackers_ , the woman thinks intelligently.  _How much medication have they given me? I'm still hallucinating, aren't I? Crap._ _  
_

"My name is Lindir," the doctor says. "What is yours, my lady?"

"Saaga," she introduces herself in daze, still stumbling over her English, staring at the man unblinkingly. "My name is Saaga Wainio."

"Well, Saaga of the house Wainio," Lindir repeats and for the first time the corners of his thin lips twitch upwards a notch. Bloody hell, he was a looker. "I welcome you to Rivendell."

"...thanks?" Saaga manages slowly and then shakes herself out of the daze. "Wait. Earlier... what you mean escaped from-? Were you serious? Now hold on a minute, mister. What _the fuck_ is going on?"

You should have seen the face he made at her words.

 

* * *

 

Someone had washed her unconscious body while Saaga had blissfully remained in dreamlands which was good because she had slept a few days straight, she was told, and would have stank pretty bad otherwise. Even the small amount of make-up she had worn had been washed off, leaving her eyebrows looking sparse and skin embarrassingly bare for all the world to see. Yep, the pimple on her chin flaming red and all, oh joy and glory. Saaga almost felt naked which she knew was stupid but it's not like you can help it in a situation like this. Make-up was a girl's armor in strange places with new people. Suddenly Saaga was very glad she wasn't one of those ladies who plucked their entire eyebrows off and drew them instead. Now that would have been downright awkward right now. Surprise, no eyebrows! Hah!

The idea of her unconscious bath had freaked her out a bit, sure. So, _fine_. The brunette could admit that the loose green tunic - even with the strange in-sewn padding that she guessed was supposed to act like a bra - and brown, straight pants were wonderfully comfortable compared to her sweaty undershirt and jacket she had worn while running, not to mention her form-fitting black leggings. And these silky-slippers, oh, they were a stairway to heaven for her aching, blistering toes.

In their stead and much to Saaga's discomfort, Lindir had first offered her a variety of dresses to pick one from. They had all been wonderful, beautiful in material and color wise, but Saaga had stared down at them in horror and then redirected the said horror towards Lindir as if the doctor's suggestion alone had offended her. In a way it had. She didn't wear dresses, not on any occasion, not by a choice at least. Of course it was childish of her to think like this but Saaga had always found dresses to be entirely too restrictive, and then there was the worrying that you were shoving too much skin or if you weren't showing _enough_ skin and no, no, no. She didn't do dresses. She had had to basically plead until she was graciously given a pair of brown pants, all the while Lindir had frowned at her disapprovingly much to Saaga's growing confusion. As if he hadn't been shocked enough by her cursing.

"That is not appropriate language, young lady!" The doctor had gasped in disapproval as if she had suggested a mass murder over Sunday dinner.

Conservative much? Yuicks. They were just pants and a few curse words for goodness sake. 

The woman's clean skin and hair make her feel a bit better though - despite of the disturbing mental image of her unconscious fondling - like the horrors of the nightmarish evening had been physically washed off. 

But that did not mean Saaga felt entirely at home for her own clothes had provided the woman with the much needed proof that she was not, indeed, going insane because that was the only possible explanation she had managed to come up with so far. To Saaga's relief her old clothes were later that day brought to the end of her sick-bed, clean and folded with military precision. She had run her hands over them time and time again, feeling the familiar material and telling herself  _to calm the fuck down_ because surely things weren't as bad as they seemed.

In the end she changed back into her sports bra, black top and blue jacket but left the brown pants on. She had instantly felt much better. 

Evidently Saaga was spectacularly lost, that was another thing she was ready to admit. How had she gotten so far away from her usual running-track, she had no clue. Things like this didn't happen to people in real life. At least not to her; Saaga had always been so very careful not to leave the path because forests at her home were vast and dark and in the evening they turned cold and dangerous. Saaga never strayed from the path. The woman had been jogging, deep in her thoughts - just like every other friday evening - and suddenly realized she had no idea where she was. Nothing had looked familiar and everything about her surrounding had been slightly off: the smell of the forest she was so accustomed to, the plants, the trees, the all engulfing silence... The track had simply vanished and she hadn't been able to see the streetlights anymore, not even in the distance. The panic had properly set in after the wolf howls had started. Those had almost scared Saaga out of her mind because there weren't supposed to be any wolves around the area she lived and if there were, that meant that the wolves were desperate and hungry.

She had never run away so fast in her entire life. She would have made a new time record.

Saaga was not exactly sure how she had ended up in this rural part of her country but she was very eager to get back home. She yearned to see high-rises, cars and proper roads again. She wanted to talk someone other than Lindir who hovered over her like a worried, disturbingly good-looking mother hen. She wanted to see people dress like her - dress like normal people do - and stop Lindir from looking at her like she was some kind of an abnormality. Like she did not belong. Like she was an particularly perplexing animal.

Saaga just had to know where she was and then she could - _would_ - go. She just needed to place herself on a map.

Saaga had swiftly been back on her feet the second Lindir had given her the permission. However, Lindir's god-like appearance wasn't fading even after the effects of the medication clearly were and it was starting to freak the woman out even further. Why? Because the man was simply _dreamy_ and no amount of good genetics were capable of producing  _that._

Unfortunately for Saaga, Lindir had admitted to being more familiar with healing ( _Healing_? Seriously? Couldn't he just say that he was a doctor?) than traveling. He had even seemed genuinely puzzled when Saaga had demanded to use a phone and then a radio. No luck, much to Saaga's confusion and growing panic. Not to mention Lindir claimed not to have ever even heard of Finland before which led Saaga to decide that the doctor might be stunningly beautiful but also, possibly, a bit simple. The poor guy didn't even seem to know the name of the country they lived in. She just hoped really hard that Lindir was in condition to give her proper medical treatment, that was all she required from the crazy doctor.

However, just this morning Lindir had promised that all hope was not lost. Hence, their morning walk.

Saaga sincerely hoped that this new guy they were about to meet would have even the most basic grasp of technology. If not, she might be prompted to lose her temper because _seriously_  who did not own a phone these days? These people wanted to be hermits? Fine. Saaga did not really care but was it not a bit inconvenient not to have any way of communicating with the rest of the world, especially in a situation where a complete stranger just wanders in, lost, battered and more than a little confused? Sure, she had read news about people becoming hermits, living deep in the Finnish forests but in case of emergencies they always had a way of contacting medical services at least.

This kind of isolation was just freaky.

Putting her growing hysteria aside, Saaga felt relieved and strangely touched when Lindir did not comment on her stiff, awkward walking as they leave her room. The woman's legs were still incredibly sore from the long run and Saaga was pretty sure last night had been the longest and fastest she has ever run in one spurt. In fact, this morning it felt like her legs were carved from wood. She was about as limber as crisp rye-bread.

In return Saaga decided not to mention that Lindir almost looked like he was wearing a dress; so beautiful was the way his... _long tunic_  swirled around his legs with each stride. There was something definitely male-like in Lindir despite the fact that his face was asexually beautiful. Michelangelo would piss his pants in excitement if he could see the doctor.

"Do you think he will be able to help me?"

Saaga's question is filled with innocent hopefulness. She wasn't a natural at small talk - a common fault in Finns she had been told by foreigners - but she might as well try for Lindir had certainly earned an attempt at least for his troubles. While Saaga speaks, they exit her room, and finally the female gets a chance to gaze upon the impossibility that Lindir had named Rivendell.

And oh, it was glorious. As in it brought tears to her eyes.

Saaga's steps falter when they reach a railing and she drinks in the sight opening up before her like one would cold water in desert heat. This place was simply stunning and bordering on magnificent. The light is so bright she has to shade her eyes and air so crisp and clean it almost makes her sneeze.

"Oh, wow," Saaga says as she scratches her nose, _"_ I feel like I'm dreaming."

Rivendell was heaven or at least everything a heaven would consist of in Saaga's imagination. Everything was hauntingly perfect from the clean stone-floors to glistening waterfalls than whooshed in the distance. The mist from the water gently caressed her cheekbones and probably turned her hair into a ball of frizz. But despite the beauty around her, there was that sinking feeling at the bottom of her stomach - the dread of what was to come.

"I am  _so_ far away from home," Saaga whispers miserably under her breath.

But all in all, Rivendell was so stunning, so overwhelming, that she had to seriously focus on simply gathering herself and continuing on walking.

_One leg after another. Good girl._

Saaga had to keep her own commands simple because otherwise she would just stop and stand there, mesmerized, as hours and days ticked by. She sneaks another glance towards Lindir when they resume their walking. Maybe the doctor was gently trying to break it to her that she had died and journeyed to the next level of existence? Or if Rivendell wasn't heaven then it was a fairy land, the young woman decides. No man could ever dream of building a town like this.

In all seriousness  _where on earth was she?_ Finland should claim the place as a national treasure. Why hadn't she ever heard of this place? Intrigued by a sudden sight, Saaga stops to brush her fingertips against the rail of a stairway. There is a complete story skillfully engraved into it but in her haste to follow Lindir the brunette does not have the time to decide what the story is about.

"This way, my lady. As for your question... I can only hope so," Lindir answers her as he continues to freaking _glide_  forward. Saaga watches him from the corner of her eye almost jealously. The man must be doing on purpose, changing to normal walk when Saaga wasn't ogling him but the Finn couldn't help it for the man looked more like some kind of a nymph than human. 

With each glance Saaga was actually starting to be more certain that he was not, in fact, all human. He looked alien. Extraterrestrial. Put simply, too fucking perfect to be real. Saaga could feel her palms sweat up at the thought but she brushes them angrily aside.

_This is getting ridiculous. Calm down, it's gonna be fine._

Saaga swallows nervously and looks away from Lindir's perfect profile. Again, that feeling. Something was wrong. Something weird was going on. It was like the whole world around them was holding its breath, holding in a secret that everybody else except Saaga knew. 

"Mithrandir has traveled far and wide," Lindir on her left continues. "I am sure he is capable of at least pointing you into the right direction. His wisdom exceeds us all. Well, perhaps not Lord Elrond's but he does come very close in comparison to the rest of us."

"Now that should be  _incredibly_ helpful. Who was this Alront person, again?"

Linder does not dignify her with an answer.

They arrive on a big, stony balcony where the old man with the funny hat is enjoying a pipeful. Saaga recognizes Gandalf immediately from the other night. It was official: she had not dreamed those short men up. This realization, however, does not make her feel at all in ease.

"Ah, lady Saaga," the old man raises the wooden pipe in greeting, looking completely relaxed, if a bit tired. He had grey circles under his eyes like the smoke from his pipe had soaked his skin. "Are you feeling better?"

"Very much so, thank you. Lindir here has been helpful."

"It was my pleasure," the mysterious doctor bows like they are somewhere in Asia and leaves the odd-pair by themselves. The second he turns around the corner and disappears, Saaga whips towards Gandalf with eyes bigger than dinner plates. Her voice is a disbelieving hiss that sizzles out through her gritted teeth.

"Is he even _human_? How can people look like _that_?!"

"That would be because Lindir is not of the race of Men," Gandalf - or Mithrandir - explains, "he is an elf."

"He... is a- a  _what_?"

"An elf."

"A what now?"

Gandalf's thick, whiskery eyebrows furrow in concern. He lowers his pipe and takes a good look at the stranger that had joined them on their run to Rivendell. Her brown, shoulder-length, wavy hair is a mess and eyes stare at him in disbelief. She was still wearing that beautiful jacket with the most skillful stitching and coloring, but had changed into a more appropriate pair of - strangely enough - pants. Though something even weirder was going on with her because it looked like the woman had never seen a proper day of work in her entire life. Her hands were small and soft, without any callouses, her skin glowing healthily and there was a little bit extra softness on her waistline and cheeks. Clearly she had lived many well-fed days.

Wherever she came from, it wasn't from around here.

"Should we have your hearing checked as well?" Gandalf suggests.

"No. No, I'm absolutely, you know, _peachy_ ," Saaga hisses back at him while shaking her head. Her blood-pressure was rising again. "What do you mean _an elf_? You're delusional. Elves are those tiny creatures dressed in green that eat your new-born babies. Fairytales. Do you have something stronger than pipe-weed in there? While I agree Lindir is _stunning_ he definitely looks like he, I don't know,  _exists._ "

Gandalf almost chokes on his pipe-smoke, his entire body shaking from the force of each cough.

Ah, she was  _definitely not_ from around these parts.

"My lady! I do not know where in the world you've met elves like that but I can assure you that is not the case here. Those creatures you speak of must be of a different race entirely."

"Yeah, I guess that would explain the height difference as well," Saaga snorts with proper sarcasm this time and twists her fingers in her brown hair. It was getting more tangled up by the second because of the rough treatment. The young woman takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down, pushing her hands against her eyes so hard she sees stars and galaxies swirling in her vision. The old man might have turned out to be insane as well but he was her only hope of getting home from this crazy-town.

"Okay. Okay! I don't really care about what you call him. That's just semantics. Lindir said you might be able to help me get home?"

"Well," Gandalf blows more pipe-smoke out of his nose. It causes the hairs in it shiver, making it look like the mice in his nostrils were twitching their tiny noses. "That would very much depend on where your home is. Are you searching for the home you grew up in: the one you hold dear in your memories? Or might you be heading for the place where your heart has made its home? Or perhaps searching for a new one?"

Saaga is going to burst a vein from her forehead if this kept up. She breaths in from between her gritted teeth to calm herself. Anger and panic were not going get her nowhere, she really needed to remember that more often. She needed to remain rational even if everyone else was going nuts. Gandalf in turn was eyeing her from under that ridiculous hat, looking curious by Saaga's inquiries that clearly did not make any sense to him. 

Surely she wasn't the first person on earth that got lost? Why was Gandalf making that face?

"No," Saaga continues slowly as if talking to a child with a face of a grandpa. "I'm searching for my _home_. The place I live at - have always lived at. It's in Finland, Scandinavia. Europe ring any bells? I am still in Finland, right? Even I can't run _that_ far. This language is throwing me off a bit, though. I mean, surely it is not unheard of to be worried about finding yourself in a unfamiliar place where people don't even speak your language. And I am. Worried, that is. You're scaring me. Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Finland?" Gandalf mutters, deep in thought as he lowers the pipe down. Seeing him think was like watching him turn dusty pages of a book; slowly and with utmost care. "I don't believe I have ever heard of this place. It is not here in Middle-earth, of that I can assure you. Do you have any sense of it's direction?"

"It's... it's in the North. Like, not on the North Pole or anything but pretty close, depends really on the scale you're looking at. The place that is pitch-black in winter and sun shines through the day and night in summer? The country of reindeer and Santa Claus?" In the end her voice cracks, desperation coloring the tone of her words. What was going on? Did she really need to start panicking? Saaga had done remarkably well so far in regards to freaking out but now she was truly starting to get nervous jitters. "Your ignorance is really starting to freak me out, mister Gandalf."

"I must admit I have no memory of such a place. And I do not know this Santa Claus." The ashes are gently tapped out of Gandalf's pipe and off the balcony. "But it does not sound like a pleasant place to live. Are you quite determined you wish to return to such a dark place, my dear?"

"Yes!" Saaga exclaims in frustration and then calms down quickly. "I have to. It's my _home._ I need to go  _home._ I have an important test coming up this week and, yeah, come to think of it, I think I left a window open. So," she claps her hands together expectantly, "I _really_ need to get going. "

"Indeed," Gandalf is eyeing Saaga with newfound interest, his old, grey eyes twinkling with something that sends creeps down the woman's spine. "From the North, you say? Somewhere beyond the mountains of Angmar and Ered Mithrin, perhaps?"

"Perhaps," Saaga agrees hesitantly, dread filling her. None of those places had sounded immediately familiar. Perhaps she had ended up in Norway? For fuck's sake she had a long way home if that was the case. And another strange thing was that while she was used to foreigners not knowing where Finland was _exactly_ they had always known it _exists_. The way Gandalf spoke sounded like he had no idea.

And then something clicks in place in Saaga's nervously whirring head, like a rusty clockwork finding its original rhythm. The wheels of Saaga's mind start moving and her head cocks sideways, eyes still locked with Gandalf's. She takes few rushed steps towards the older man, pointing accusing finger at him.

Gandalf, on the other hand, watches with small amount of amusement how the woman's face momentarily lights up and then falls. She looks stunned, her pointing finger trembling and eating away at her credibility.

"Wait… Hold on… Tell me once more what was this, uh… country? Continent, called?"

"This would be Middle-earth, my lady."

_Middle-earth._

_Elves._

_Gandalf… the Grey?_

Just to test the theory because Saaga has to, because there is no frikkin' way this could be real, she shakily asks a question that now plagues her mind. She can't help it. Her voice starts to shake.

"You are Gandalf the Grey? The… the wizard? Like Harry-freaking-Potter?"

A bright smile spreads on the face of the old man, doubling the amount of wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. His expression makes Saaga's stomach plummet through the floor.

_Fucking. Hell._

"I do sometimes go by that name, yes. But I do not know of this Harry you speak of. The pleasant conclusion of this all is then, that you cannot be too far from home if you have heard of me."

"Oh no", Saaga breaths out and has to slump down next to Gandalf so that her legs won't give in to the temptation of falling down on her knees. That would have been very dramatic but not at all like her. With unfocused eyes Saaga turns in slow-motion to stare at the stony walls of Rivendell because she needed to look at something... _blank_  while the situation sinked in.

Oh, who was she kidding? Nothing was blank nor bland here in Rivendell. Quietly the woman curses all flower ornaments to the deepest depths of hell.

This wasn't a dream, that Saaga had settled earlier by pinching herself so hard it had hurt. This wasn't a play or an act either because  _no way_ no one would build a place like this just to play a prank on random wanderers. So in the name of the great Sherlock Holmes, when you have eliminated the impossible (that was still questionable), whatever remained, however improbable, had to be the truth.

Slowly Saaga turns to stare at Gandalf with as much disbelief as she would have had for a genie that popped out of a lamp.

_Well, what do you know._

Saaga was so screwed. This was possibly the biggest joke of her lifetime. No, screw that. This  _was_ the biggest joke of her lifetime.

"I'm afraid it means that I am very, very, _very_ far from home."

For a second they just sit there in silence; Gandalf in a curious one while Saaga remains stunned by the way her life has unexpectedly turned out to be an all-encompassing insanity streak. Slowly a hysterical laughter bubbles out of the Finn. The situation is ridiculous. How does stuff like this even happen to people? The answers was it didn't. This was insane.  _She_ was insane, possibly (probably). 

Finally Saaga cracks under stress.

Giving her best impression of Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland - surprisingly fitting, that - Saaga bursts with cackling laughter and continues to shake with it for a long time while shaking her head and wiping moisture her eyes until she is completely out of breath. Gandalf smokes next to her and stares at the girl studiously, waiting for the woman to finally calm down. Whatever she had realized seemed to have shocked her to the core.

When Saaga's hysterical laughter turns into panicked sobs that wreck her whole body, the old man offers a surprisingly strong shoulder to cry on. He even offers Saaga a handkerchief which the woman uses mostly to hide her red face. Unfortunately for Gandalf's handkerchief, Saaga has always been a ugly crier. 

_Who the hell uses handkerchiefs anyways? Oh right, wizards._

Her weeping continues for quite some time. Saaga cries out all of her insecurities, fears, and the panic of getting separated from the safe and known. She cries because of the sheer insanity of the situation. She cries because she was suddenly feeling entirely lost and lonely and nobody spoke Finnish here and this blasted English was difficult for her; she had always had trouble twisting her tongue around the words. The language just didn’t suit her. And then, she also cried because she was exhausted and scared and her legs still hurt.

Saaga felt like a small child again.

How was her home suddenly so completely beyond her reach? She couldn’t wrap her head around the idea. Her friends, her family… Had she just suddenly lost them all? How long would it take for them to notice that she was missing? It wouldn’t happen instantly. Her mother was used to her not picking up the phone and it would take weeks before somebody would start to question her absence from university or why her bills suddenly stopped being paid.

She was on her own.

Saaga sobs heavily with her shoulders jerking in rhythm of her breaths, the whole ordeal stopping with her loudly blowing her nose into Gandalf’s handkerchief.

”Your situation seems to have come to you as a shock," Gandalf says. His face is painted with compassion.

”Oh, you think?” Saaga chuckles hollowly and wipes her red cheeks dry. She rubs her palms across her face and lets her head drop between her legs, feeling like she was close to fainting again. Gandalf puts a hand on her back and pats. The only thing missing would have been him muttering  _there, there_.

”This… this is bloody unbelievable. How could this happen? It doesn’t make any sense.”

”Now, if you’re feeling a little bit better,” Gandalf prompts her gently, ”would you mind telling me what upset you so? Surely your home is not so far away that it is worth this many tears.”

Saaga takes a deep, shaky breath and straightens her spine. She lowers her brown eyes to the floor and picks at the edge of the grayish handkerchief. How could she even _begin_ to explain this mess when she didn’t understand it herself?

”This is… this is going to sound right _insane_ , Gandalf, but I beg of you to listen to me. Just humor my story for a second, I’m sure we can come up with something that proves it to be true. I am finding this just as hard to believe, _trust me_.”

”Continue,” the wizard says gently. He is now packing his pipe away and fleetingly Saaga wonders where in those robes he could possibly put a pipe that was smoking hot just a second ago.

”Right, so… A few days ago, I was jogging. It was the usual route, I’ve run it a thousand times, so I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings. It-… It-… I… Something happened, Gandalf. I can’t properly explain it so let me put this bluntly: I think I ended up here from a different world. Different from this. You probably think something along the lines of _well how do you know that_? I know _I_ would. You see, in my world this… all of _this_ , is a story that some English dude wrote when he was bored. You’re a character from a book. My god, I’m talking to a character from a book.”

Saaga takes a second just to let that sink in as much for Gandalf as to herself.

”A story, you say? There has been many stories written about the wonders of Imladris. I am not surprised you would have come across one of them.”

”No! No, this one is different; the story is not from here, it's... You were in it! Gandalf the Grey - the wizard. You lead a fellowship. You were going to destroy a- a magic item. A pendant or something?”

Saaga snaps her fingers irritatedly, hoping that it would all just magically come back to her. But really, it was some time ago when she had last seen the movies. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure if she was mixing Lord of the Rings with Harry Potter. Oh, Lord of the _Rings_ , of course, it had been a ring! She is just about to blurt it all out but Gandalf beats her to it.

”My lady,” Gandalf says and sets his wide brimmed hat back on his head. He looks at Saaga kindly enough to spark a tiny flicker of hope in the woman’s chest. It is smothered down the next second, however. ”I believe you’re still in shock. I think it would be for the best if you were to return to your room and sleep the rest of the medication off.”

Saaga’s jaw slids open. She sniffs because there's snot running down her upper lip.

”Excuse me?”

”Come find me tomorrow if you still need someone to talk to. I imagine I will spend some time here… couple of days at least… I wouldn’t mind a little change in the company.”

Rest of his sentence gets mumbled into the depths of his beard but Saaga was certain she heard something about stubborn travel companions. She wasn’t feeling empathetic though.

”You can’t be serious?”

”Very much so, I’m afraid. We’re lucky if we can move on within a week.”

”That’s not what- Gandalf, no. Where are you going?”

”Supper, my lady.”

Saaga stumbles on her feet and grips at the wizard’s sleeve. ”But you have to listen to me! You can’t just brush me off!”

”And I shall listen,” Gandalf agrees and gently removes her hand, ”after a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, when you’re thinking more clearly. I hope you’re feeling better by then. It is not good for anyone to be as distressed as you are, lady Saaga. Do try to get some sleep so we can leave these medically induced visions behind us. Until tomorrow, my lady.”

He tips the edge of his hat at her and Saaga stands there, frozen by disbelief and embarrassment. The wizard had thought she was drugged, he thought she was a-… a crazy person. Irritation flares hotly within her as she stares at the retreating back of Gandalf.

”He was serious. He was actually serious,” Saaga repeats under her breath as her eyes sting. The Finn stands there for a moment, just wondering what the hell she was supposed to do now. Well, she couldn’t bloody well just stand here all day, gaping like an idiot, now could she? The obvious thing to do was to return to her room to ponder over this whole ordeal and form a proper battle plan. And that’s exactly what Saaga decides to do after striding around in tight circles a couple of times, swinging her fists at imaginary enemies.

The woman power-walks towards her room, cursing the wizard under her breath, ” _Talk to me tomorrow, young lady._ Who does he think he is?”

When she passes a couple of elves - yes, _elves_  - she grumbles in sudden anger and kicks a small pebble off her way like a football. The ethereal elven pair slows down their walking and turn to look after her in shock but Saaga doesn’t care. Honestly, she couldn’t, because her toe hurt a lot from kicking that rock just now and she was again close to tears and yet she had to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. And the tears, they were more from frustration than pain, mind you. She had cried enough in front of people for a day. No more crying. Not in front of anyone else at least.

_Elves! Fucking earth-gliders! Do they have roller skaters for feet or something? Wizards! Bwah! So much for his wise words. May he end up with that staff in place where the sun doesn’t shine!_

Miraculously Saaga does find her way back to her room and slams the door closed after herself. For a moment she stands there in the middle of the room, fists clenched at her sides and breath coming out in angry huffs. And then she just crumbles because there is no one there to see it happen.

” _Oh god_ ,” Saaga whispers and raises her trembling hands over her mouth. ”What am I going to do? What am I going to do? _What am I going to do?!_ ”

Someone opens the door behind her and instantly Saaga whirls around and stares up to Lindir with wide eyes. She swallows hastily and wipes the beginnings of fresh tears into her sleeves.

”My lady!” Lindir gasps, places a tea tray on a table and leans next to her, his burgundy ropes whooshing dramatically from the sudden movement. ”Are you alright?”

”Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Just a minor mental breakdown,” Saaga stutters.

”Well, breakdowns are not pleasant but they can be much more tolerable when worked through on a soft bed. Come, my lady.”

Lindir’s touch is surprisingly firm as he walks Saaga on the edge of the bed and makes her sit down. Next Saaga finds herself with a cup of steaming tea in her hands and an elf-doctor eyeing her with dispassionate curiosity. Awkwardly Saaga raises the cup on her lips and takes a sip.

The tea had a strong herb aroma to it and it was nothing like she had ever had before. It smelled of dried leaves - well, obviously, it was still _tea_ \- but also flowers and, dare she say it, dirt. Not the nasty kind but rather the kind straight from a bag, fresh and earthy, where it was a pleasure to plant your flowers into. She couldn’t quite distinguish the flower scents from the tea either but Saaga had never had interest in botany, to be fair. Sure, she could tell the difference between dandelion and a sun-flower but that was as far as her knowledge of plants went. Middle-earth, being not as advanced as her home was, was no doubt all about plants and suddenly Saaga wished they had studied them at school. Finnish schools should totally teach these sort of things in biology classes as there were vast amount of places in northern Finland where the nearest hospital was hundreds of kilometers away. Medical knowledge of plants could come handy in a pinch.

”You thoughts seem to be worlds away, my lady.”

”You have no idea,” Saaga whispers and takes another sip from her cup. She was slowly starting to calm down from her righteous fury that was quickly replaced by embarrassment.

”Would you like to talk about it?” Lindir asks and Saaga quirks an eyebrow at him before realizing that, oh yeah, Lindir was a doctor. It was his job to worry about his patients.

”No… no, it’s fine. Just got worked up a bit. And not for the first time. It's fine. I wouldn't want to bother you with such... insignificant things.”

 _Insignificant, really? Hi, I'm from another world. Just having a small breakdown here. No_   _biggie. Do ignore me._

”I see.”

Saaga leans her elbows on her knees and traces the edge of the teacup with her thumb.

”Say, Lindir. If you were in a situation where… where you had to convince someone of something the other person would consider to be utterly, totally, outright impossible... not-… not as a prank or anything, but really had to convince someone. How would you do it?”

”Well, as the terms of your conditions were a bit vague”, Lindir shoots her a look that Saaga can only answer with a half-smile and a shrug. ”Nonetheless, I would be as convincing as I could. I would sit the other person down and calmly and clearly explain myself. The more facts you have, the better of course.”

”The more facts you have..,” Saaga repeats quietly to herself and stares into her cup almost as if she was hoping to find answers down there. ”I think I’m going to need pen and paper. You... you guys have _pens_ , right?”

 

* * *

  

There is something you have to understand about the heroine of this story, dear reader.

First of all, Saaga was not the one you call in for the adventure. She very much enjoyed her solitude like every other proper Finn, silence surrounding her only breached by the quiet whirring of her computer and boiling tea water. Her tiny one-room flat was mostly decorated in black and white - modernly - but it remained homely enough not to feel clinical. Why on earth would she want to go anywhere when she was perfectly content to stay in her own house?

Secondly, Saaga couldn't care less about adventures. They were a waste of time, money and resources. It was just that there were other things to worry about: bills, rent, work, homework, her new boss, beating her old times at jogging, that new interesting lecture at her university, the intern spot in Berlin she had had in her sight for _months_ … See, it wasn't just that she didn't care for adventures, it was a fact that Saaga did not have time for them. The young woman had just one life and she was determined to live it _right_. That thought was basically carved into her spine. 

Thirdly, nobody in their right mind would want to go on an adventure with _her_. While Saaga might be decent at playing the role of a proper woman, she was really just playing. It was the model she was fitted in, raised by, brought up on, however you want to phrase it. Take that away and what was left? Saaga herself wasn't so sure of the answer. The rules for women seemed to be different here in Middle-earth and Saaga was going to have a hard time adjusting.

Lastly, Saaga was possibly _the worst_ person to be chosen _for this particular adventure_ , especially if you ask for her opinion. The Finn could vaguely remember watching the Lord of the Rings-trilogy one terrible Christmas when she had been ill but it wasn't like she had _actually_ watched it. She had used the movie mostly as a background noise to lull her back to sleep. " _Screw the reality!_ " Saaga had thought, meaning literally falling asleep and definitely not escaping reality via childrens' stories.

 _Oh and how wrong I was,_ were her thoughts when she thought back on those days now.

This bloody story was as far from childrens' story as one could imagine. While there were wizards and elves here - which was, well, _cool_ \- Saaga desperately wished to return to the world where her worst fear was saying something inappropriate in public. She would gladly face that instead of orcs and wargs and god knows what other creatures that crawled out at the darkest hours of night.

Hadn't there been some flying monsters in here as well? Yeah, she really didn't want to say hello to those. She didn't even want to see them. Not a glimpse. She was happy in her ignorance and wasn't ready for that to change.

This whole thing was _so unfair_. She didn't  _want_ to be here. Surely there would have been someone much more fitting?

"My lady," Gandalf tells her when they walk slowly towards dining hall a few hours later, after Saaga has finally managed to explain her situation to the wizard. Correction: after she had _successfully_ explained herself to the wizard. It hadn't been easy, but Gandalf had at least promised to humor her for now and for that Saaga was eternally grateful. Her whole story must have sounded all loopy and she was pretty sure it had, going by the facial expression Gandalf had gone through while Saaga played the role of a storyteller. But finally the wizard had seemed to understand the gravity of the situation when Saaga had mentioned  _the ring_ and  _a volcano_ and  _a-big-war-in-white-city-and-elephants_ of all things. Now Gandalf continues, "if it is truly the case here, that you have been send to us with this foresight of future events... it is possible you have been blessed by the creators. Or perhaps, they have blessed us with your presence."

"Or cursed," Saaga mutters darkly under her breath.

She was almost annoyed that Rivendell was so beautiful and peace-inspiring. She would have much rather stayed in the relative safety of her room, throwing dinner plates at the poor walls and screamed in hysteria, much rather than played a seer. And not a very good one at that either as she couldn't remember half of the stuff that happened in the story. Nope, she sucked being a seer - that much she had pointed out to Gandalf without a moment of hesitation - after which the wizard was left wondering _what_ was Saaga exactly if not a seer. Saaga had no further explanation for him and she had pointed out if it was truly necessary to even pin-point _what_ she was when the fact remained that she  _knew_ things. She was  _here_ and she was willing to  _tell._

Saaga was no seer. Seers were eerie, mystical and scary, and Saaga... she really wasn't any of those things. Even right now, the only thing keeping her from having another mental breakdown was the rock-steady presence of Gandalf and that weird smelling tea Lindir had pretty much forced down her throat again, that surprisingly-sneaky-bastard-of-a-doctor. But it had made Saaga relax a fraction before her encounter with Gandalf and Saaga had stayed surprisingly calm throughout the whole thing. 

And their faces! Hah! She couldn't quite decide which one had been more stunned she could actually read and write, Gandalf or Lindir. And that hadn't even been her best trick because she had the knowing-the-future card up her sleeve.

"Yes, there is that possibility as well," Gandalf mutters just as solemnly. However, as the young woman raises her distressed gaze towards him, Saaga can see the barely contained mischief twinkling in his grey eyes. The Finn truly hopes the wizard is merely making fun of her. A wizard! The thought still makes her dizzy. "There must be a reason for your presence and for the exact moment you were pulled from your... homeland. It is truly curious you would appear on this exact moment before... well, we shall see what happens."

"The ring will be found, Gandalf," Saaga says with as much certainty as she can muster, "and when it is, remember my words. We both know what needs to be done to it. The story needs to happen or-.. or I don't know what will happen."

"Ah, yes. I cannot lie to you, my lady. Your words trouble me deeply. This is not the first omen of the vile things I'm afraid we have yet to face."

There are deep shadows on Gandalf's face and suddenly Saaga is feeling strained under the burden of knowledge. After all, she _knows_ hundreds upon hundreds will die in the future. It wasn't just a story or a movie anymore, with faceless actors playing the parts of dying soldiers, it was reality. If this was how Gandalf felt all the time she definitely felt sorry for the man.

"But the legend was successful in the end," Saaga tries to cheer them up. "Why wouldn't it be this time around? And, _wow_ , now I'm really scared of accidentally changing anything. Wait, I already told you about it, does that count? Of course it counts. Oh man, this ain't good."

"You are right, lady Saaga. You must keep this knowledge to yourself. It is far too dangerous to speak of these things out loud. I am grateful you came to me with this but I fear I must ask you to keep everything between the two of us. It is too soon to frighten the others with what may or may not happen. As for the successfulness, I am glad to hear of it," Gandalf says with kind tone but then stops and turns to look at Saaga contemplatively. "But perhaps... perhaps it wasn't enough. Perhaps your presence here means that something must be done differently. The other option is, I'm afraid, that you were pulled from your world into this one in order to bring chaos, to wreck havoc with your knowledge and in the end, possibly stop the legend from ever happening. It shall remain to be seen. However," he leans towards Saaga and instinctively Saaga herself leans away, "we must keep an eye out. If you are here for the purpose I think you might be... I believe there will be a sign. I have trust in the creators of this world and if they are truly behind this, I wouldn't want to think they would leave me in the dark entirely. I believe your fate will be up to them."

_Bloody hell, sounds like you're really talking to a wizard. Must be Thursday._

"Ah, Elrond!" Gandalf suddenly interrupts himself when they come across a strange man at a corner. The lingering shadows on his face melt away like ice-cream in sunlight and Saaga is left blinking, incredulously wondering what just happened. She turns to face the newcomer and tries to relax her face. She knows perfectly well her expression is similar to that of a high-schooler that was spreading nasty rumors behind someone's back before getting caught in the act.

Elrond had dark brown hair just like Lindir but his eyes were warm instead of frozen chocolate and his skin was mattered with deep lines of age. Still, he looks absolutely stunning. Like a creature from another world -  which he was - Saaga realizes with a startle. And he was tall. If Saaga would have had to guess, she would have estimated Elrond to be pretty close to two meters which meant Saaga had to tip her head upwards to get a good look.

"Mithrandir," the clearly-another-elf greets him with a smile. "I see our young lady has returned to the world of the living."

"Indeed she has. Lord Elrond, this is Saaga of the house Wainio, daughter of Maria and Lauri. Saaga, this is our generous host, lord Elrond - the lord of Rivendell."

Her parents' names sound strange coming out of Gandalf's mouth because of his foreign accent but despite the discomfort at the wizard's pronunciation, Saaga curtseys awkwardly at Elrond, feeling terribly silly and out of place herself. But she could pretend they were role-playing for now. If Gandalf was willing to believe her, then Saaga should return the gesture of good will.

Was this how they greeted people here? Or had Saaga just made herself look like a complete fool? Would a nod have sufficed? Should she have kneeled, Elrond being a 'lord' and all?

"Pleasure to meet you," Saaga tries to repair the situation. Christ, she really was a walking disaster when it came to manners, wasn't she? She could only hope Elrond would show her mercy.

"Well met, my lady," lord Elrond greets Saaga with a kind smile, allowing the woman to relax a little. Maybe her bad manners wouldn't get her executed on the spot. "I believe we are just in time for dinner. Come, you must be hungry after your little adventure."

"Kind of you to invite us. We are not really dressed for dinner."

"Well, _you_ never are."

The tall men chuckle quietly at each other, revealing that they were most likely old friends. Irritation sparks hotly in Saaga as she stares blankly at their retreating backs; she has always hated being in strange places and not knowing anyone. This whole mess was just another level of worse.

 _Well fuck it,_ Saaga thought grumpily before following the pair. Ah, it was funny how the road to trouble so often - as it did in this case as well - began with those words. But dinner did sound tempting enough to push her irritation aside. 

However, the Finn's feet do falter at the steps to the dining hall while Gandalf and Elrond continue onwards, not paying her hesitation any attention.

It was loud for one. As loud as in her university's cafeteria but it seemed that a very small amount of people were actually capable of producing just as much noise. Saaga was surprised she could actually recognize the group of short men that had gathered around dinner table. Most of the events of The Nightmare Night had been turned into to a mere haze of a memory but she could still recognize Kíli the archer, the warrior man with a bald spot, and of course, mister Santa Claus. Rest of them are barely there in her head. But in the woman's defense, Saaga had been pretty messed up when she had stumbled upon them in the woods. Sadly, that had been the end of her good luck. No turning in sight so far. Lady Luck had abandoned her, it seemed.

On the other hand, why couldn't she just eat dinner on her own in her own room, just like before?

Saaga was just about to turn over her heel and escape the situation but unfortunately Gandalf was faster. Despite her face being all  _oh hell, no!_ Gandalf turns to address the crowd. Apparently the wizard wasn't in a merciful mood.

"Company of Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf starts with a voice that runs over all the other chatter, making every man turn towards him and Saaga. "This is lady Saaga of the family Wainio. She was the one who joined us few days ago when we were ambushed by orcs."

_Well. Fuck._

Saaga can feel the back of her neck turning flaming red when a head after another appears behind the next to shoot curious and partly suspicious looks at her. The woman's burning hate for being the center of attention raises its ugly head and makes her cringe. Saaga cannot help feeling like she was being held under a microscope as the men's curious eyes roam all over her. Unconsciously Saaga crosses her arms, turns her eyes away and glares at a wall. Her lips purse in annoyance as she throws a seething look at Gandalf but it seems to have no effect. 

She wasn't here to make friends. Gandalf had a totally wrong idea if he thought she was going to waste her time _chatting_. Why bother with all this?

"My lady," Gandalf continues and Saaga turns her head just enough to eye the company from the corner of her eye, "may I introduce you to the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield." The man with grumpy but very handsome face nods to her shortly, immediately losing interest. "Then we have Dwalin," she can finally put a name to the face, "Balin," so that was mister Santa Claus' actual name, "Kíli, Fíli," she receives a perfectly synchronized double-nod from the two, "Dori, Nori, Ori, Óin, Glóin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur and of course Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

"At your service!" The men all holler all together which in return makes Saaga take a unsure step backwards, eyes darting between them. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. Were they truly somehow stunted? They looked _so short_ , like children with adult-like faces and ridiculously large biceps. Their anatomy remained simply bizarre in her eyes.

"Come and sit down, my lady," Gandalf encourages, completely ignoring the rising panic in Saaga's brown eyes as they snap towards the wizard. "You should eat."

"No. No, please, I'm not really hungry," Saaga splutters as the wizard walks her towards the dining table, hands heavy on her shoulders. He all but forces Saaga to sit down between Balin - _hello, Santa Claus_  - and Óin, the one with a ear trumpet. With a gulp the woman watches Gandalf depart from her and move to sit next to Elrond and that company leader whose name Saaga has already forgotten.

Saaga smiles faintly and fakely, blood rushing to her face, and it makes her leg bounce nervously under the table. The annoying harp and flute combination the elves are so gracefully playing hums loudly in her brain, sounding more like noise-pollution than music. The Finn was feeling very uncomfortable in her new clothes, in this new place, surrounded by these strange, short men. And they didn't seem too happy to have her join either, going by the looks they exchanged with each other. Nobody was even eating, just staring at her expectantly.

Saaga flickers her eyes towards the elves playing the musical instruments, and strangely anything and everything she could have said to anyone sticks to her throat, refusing to exit. Male elves were gorgeous, she had covered that. But the females? The females were supermodels but instead of that hint of sexiness that Saaga usually associated with models, there was just more angel-vibes. Gorgeous body? Yes. Smoking hot? Not really, more like ethereal glow. And suddenly Saaga is very much aware of the wrinkles in her blue running-jacket, her messy nest of brown hair and her skin, completely free of the protection and coverage of make-up.

She could feel her armpits starting to sweat. 

 _Why_ was everyone  _staring?_ It wasn't like she was _that_ ugly to look at.

_Stop it, you moron. Just do what you always do._

With a deep breath Saaga comps her fingers through her dark hair to smooth it down and hopes that it falls in some order above her shoulders. Then the woman straightens her spine as her father has taught her to do in times of bad self-confidence because even if Saaga did not feel confident, she could at least pretend. That's what even presidents did sometimes, right? They pretended they knew what they were doing. And Saaga was really good at pretending. If only her dad had also taught her how to survive this kind of curveballs life has decided to throw at her like, you know,  _what to do when you accidentally_ run  _into Middle-earth._ Things like that.

To her surprise Saaga realizes that yes, she was actually starving and promptly proceeds to distract herself by stuffing her face full of salad, nuts and fruits like a starving man, having decided to avoid every female elf from now until eternity because they really did nothing to improve her self-confidence. The food on her plate was not the kind she was used to but when one was hungry enough anything edible smells and tastes absolutely mouth-watering, so Saaga decides to direct all of her focus on that.

"A healthy appetite is a tell-tale sign for true recovery." Balin nods at Saaga approvingly after eyeing her hazardous eating for a while. His words make the brunette stop with a salad-leaf halfway to her mouth. "We were all very distressed when you suddenly collapsed like that. We were glad to hear it wasn't nothing too serious."

"Not really a place, for a lady like ya, that! Especially dressed as strangely as ya are! Never seen anything like that in my whole life. I swear, I thought ya were a ghost, a lost spirit or something of the sort. Imagine our surprise when you started _talking_ ," one of the men with completely _adorable_ hat points out. Before anyone can mutter in agreement, Saaga slams her elbow to the table, pointing at - _Bofur?_ \- the man with the hat with her fork accusatively. His black eyes cross from the closeness of the fork tip.

"You try running from wargs through day and night, and see for yourself if you can come through it without losing consciousness in the end! Or without looking a little pale. And I feel _very real,_ thank you very much. All flesh and blood."

"Ya ran _the whole time_?" Bofur asks with clear disbelief and respect, completely ignoring Saaga's rude gesture, his widened eyes finally meeting hers. They were so dark they were almost coal-black in color, but still they somehow managed to come across as warm. Most likely the feeling had something to do with that awe-inspiring walrus-mustache sprouting from under his nose. No man with that kind of a face could be evil. Taken aback, Saaga waves her fork distractedly in the air. She was still chewing and speaking at the same time. Nervousness seemed to make her forget even the most basic of manners.

"Well, I didn't have much choice, did I? It was one of those flee or die situations. And as for my clothing, it has been produced for that exact function: running."

"Ya tend to get into dangerous situations often, lass?"

"Shouldn't go lookin' for trouble," Dwalin grumbles.

"Believe me, I wasn't there by choice. I only get into trouble once in a blue moon or so," the woman states with forced calmness, still munching on her salad. Bofur's massive black eyebrows furrow under his hat. He looked like a confused walrus and suddenly Saaga had to swallow her laughter alongside with her food.

"What ya mean by that?"

Saaga rolls her eyes, flicking the loose strands of hair behind her ears so they do not get in her face as she continues eating nonchalantly.

_Show confidence, confidence, confidence... Don't let them see how lost you are._

"It's just an expression from where I'm from."

Well, a small white lie. Finns didn't use that phrase and they did not really have a matching one in their own language. But then, if you really think about it, she was actually talking about  _her world_ and not precisely her exact country of origin. Saaga was pretty confident she would be forgiven were she was to be exposed on this matter.

"Oh, that explains your accent then. I didn't think you were from around these parts. Exactly where are you from, my lady?" Balin on her left asks kindly but his voice is filled with sincere curiosity.

"I'm from the North," Saaga remarks smoothly as she had agreed with Gandalf on this.

"From Coldwells?"

" _Nah_ , much, _much_ further north. From a small village called Finland. From a place where piles of snow reach your ears at winter."

Now _that_ gains some attention. Those who were close enough to actually hear Saaga's words turn to face her with eyebrows high on their foreheads.

" - so much snow it reaches your - ?"

" - anyone survive in such conditions - ?"

" - must be cold there, what was it, Fineland - ?"

"Imagine the horror of - "

" - no way there's that much snow!"

"What, you calling me a liar?" Saaga accuses one of the men about the last comment. Okay, so maybe they did not get that much snow every year in all honesty but it wasn't like these guys would ever find out. Her home was in another reality for goodness sake.

"Well, I ain't calling you a truth-er!" The man with the most extravagant hair Saaga has ever seen spits back. It was the same star-head who had told her to shut up during the wolf attack.

"That isn't even a word!"

"I'm sure Master Nori did not mean to question the honor of your word, my lady. We are simply amazed by the wonders of your country," Balin interrupts soothingly, his wrinkled hand warm on her arm before he removes it as if nothing out of ordinary had happened.

Saaga stares at her arm where the hand had just touched. Why was there  _a touch_ involved in this conversation? In Finland you didn't touch people you barely knew when you talked for a first time, nor the second, nor the third time... There were exceptions, of course there were, but generally... you do not touch people you do not know while conversing. In fact, you barely even looked at them.

What if people in Middle-earth were like Italians? Good gracious, what if they weren't familiar with the concept of personal space? A proper Finnish nightmare right there.

The brown haired woman sniffs at the thought before noticing Kíli who was sitting across the table from her. The young man was clearly in a daze, eyes glued forward and then _winking_. Saaga almost spit the nuts she was chewing out her mouth. A glare is send to him from under her eyebrows. Oh, she was so sick of people staring at her and- and- what was it with _the_   _winking_ and _the touching?_

"Hey," Saaga snaps her fingers in front of his face, "what are you looking at?"

"Well I wasn't staring at _you,"_ the young man claims, eyeing the female with fleeting interest before turning towards Dwalin. The warrior's face is already strained as if he knows some kind of stupidness is to follow. Saaga's eyes settle on Dwalin as well, finally getting a good look at the guy. She really didn't know what to make of him. Was he just guarded all the time and hated everyone, or did you have to get to know him to stop him from glaring constantly?

"I was looking at her," Kíli smirks at the direction of an elf playing the harp but sobers hastily. "Can't say I fancy them myself. Too thin. They are all high cheek-bones and creamy skin… Not enough facial hair for me." He then turns his head to mutter to Bofur almost conspiringly: "Although… That one there is not bad."

He turns to look over his shoulder, smirking like a teenage boy, and Dwalin - somehow - manages to keep his face straight.

"That's not an elf-maiden, lad."

Startled, Kíli turns back towards the older warrior only to see him winking back at him.

This time Saaga cannot help it. Few nuts do fly off her mouth when she bursts out laughing with the rest of the company. Nobody seems to notice but she daps corner of her mouth with a napkin embarrassedly enough, thank you.

"That's funny," Kíli agrees, not really laughing himself but not blaming anyone for it either. His cheeks are gaining some glorious red color like apples at Christmas. Bofur almost falls off of his chair, howling with laugher.

"And that is definitely not a way to talk with a lady amongst us," Balin states strictly.

Annoyingly, one of the elves clearly basking in self-importance leans towards them, flute singing loudly right next to their ears, her most likely intention to disturb their loud merrymaking. Óin grumbled angrily at the elf, saw a napkin next to Saaga, and proceeded to block his ear-trumpet with it. The woman harrumphs to conceal her laughter but exchanges amused gazes with Óin nonetheless. Across the table she can see Bofur's shoulders shaking with mirth.

And suddenly Saaga finds herself to be almost at ease. Well, _almost_. It wasn't that easy to get her to drop guard. Encouraged by this revelation, the Finn turns her murky eyes towards Òin. Might as well try to have a conversation while they were at it.

"So I'm guessing you are not huma-… I mean, of the race of Men."

"Yes, I eat rice with ham."

Incredulously she stares at the other. He stares right back, waiting for her to continue.

"No, that's not what… Are of the RACE of MAN?"

"Are you questioning my honor as a man?!"

"What?! No. Oh, for Christ's sake."

Saaga snatches the napkin out of the trumpet.

"Are you of the race of Men?"

"Of course not, lass! We're dwarrows!"

Saaga can feel her mouth sliding slowly open. Deer in the headlights-face people of earth call it. Her trembling hand rises to her mouth in surprise.

"So that's why you're stunted!"

"Aye."

" _What?_ "

Wordlessly, Óin hands her the hearing trumpet. Just as wordlessly, Saaga stares at the object in utter bafflement. Her head takes a moment to catch up with what just happened. Firstly, she had done exactly what she had feared she would when meeting new people, and Óin hadn't as much as twitched an ear. Instead, he had offered her his trumpet because apparently he thought Saaga couldn't hear properly.

"Have you never seen a dwarf before, lady Saaga?" Balin leans in to join the 'conversation' which evokes loud, disappointed groans from Kíli and Bofur.

"Balin! That was the most hilarious - "

" - _and_ the most entertaining conversation of the whole evening! Why would you interrupt? I wanted to see where it was heading."

"No, in fact, I have never seen dwarves before," Saaga admits in daze and pointedly ignores the heat on her cheeks and the two smirking _dwarves_ across the table. "I've only ever seen men and animals. Never orcs or wargs and definitely not dwarves. I think I would remember." That makes her carefully into shape plucked eyebrows furrow. "Though there are few who I cannot vouch for…"

"The North must be a peaceful place to live then if you've never seen wargs. You are very lucky indeed, my lady."

The longing in Balin's voice strikes Saaga coldly.

"We manage to have enough trouble amongst ourselves," Saaga mumbles darkly, her thoughts on guns and nuclear weapons. Now that she thought about it, her world wasn't really any better. If something, hers was probably worse. "If there were any other intelligent race living by our side, I'm sure it would have been exterminated. As you can imagine, our history is not exactly worth the tale. I wish our race was beautiful or at least wise like some but no, we are all simply mad and violent."

Now it's Balin's, Óin's, Bofur's and Kíli's time to stare at the young woman with curious eyes. Apparently Saaga's soft, roundish face and smiling lips were merely there out of convenience. If they were to believe her words, the men of the North were capable of switching from light laughter to a frightful and enraged grimace of a warrior in blink of an eye. The dark, brown hair falling softly above Saaga's shoulders and her murky eyes must only enhance the frightening look on her otherwise kind-looking features in battle. It was not unheard of women of the race of Men to take on weapons. For all they know, that could be how things were done in the North. They had never seen a female specimen of this race to wear trousers either. There was a first time for everything.

"But never mind about that," Saaga snaps herself out of the gloomy mood and a small, hesitant smile returns to her lips. "Tell me about you. Where are you traveling to? I'm guessing Rivendell is not your last stop. You don't exactly seem at ease in here."

"We are going home!" Kíli declares loudly which serves him dark glares from his companions.

"Home," Saaga repeats, not understanding the mood-change in the air. "What a brilliant coincidence, I'm going there as well! I mean, to my own home. Not yours. Now that would be strange, wouldn't it?"

_Oh good grace, stop babbling._

Saaga takes a calming breath and smiles at her table-companions' snickering.

"Let me start that over. I'm trying to head home to North. Which direction are you all going?"

"We will be heading towards East, lady Saaga. Unfortunately we are at the moment unable to elaborate about our destination. Only Thorin, our leader, can share that information with you," Balin explains kindly, shooting a warning glance towards Kíli. The younger dwarf just shrugs apologetically. Dwalin is having none of it though and firmly kicks Kíli into shin under the table and glares, his face going all  _what you telling our secrets to strangers for._

"Ah," Saaga exhales quietly, a bit hurt. Kíli is gaping and clearly massaging his leg under the table. "I see."

"But ya did never tell what were ya doing in the woods," Bofur quickly changes the topic. "Ya shouldn't travel alone, being lady and all. What happened to ya?"

"I-.. I got lost. I got there by an accident."

"Well, where was all your stuff?  When we saw you, you were just running aimlessly like a headless chicken, all alone. Surely there was someone to escort you."

"I did not!" Saaga gasps at Kíli's words. "Did you think I could have run with all my belongings? Nu-huh. I left them behind."

Well, she hadn't had any to begin with. But if she had had, that would have been exactly what she would have done with them. And, what was it, escorts? Question dodged nice and smooth.

"I'm surprised ya got as far as you did, with or without 'em," Dwalin points out, still talking about her belongings.

"Uh, well... I guess I have you guys to thank for that. I mean, you kinda took me under your wing and I'm really grateful. Thank you. You probably didn't need another person to take care of and yet you did anyway."

"Well, it wasn't like we could have just left you out there," Kíli's golden haired brother suddenly joins the conversation he has been clearly eavesdropping for quite some time. Saaga raises an doubting eyebrow at him. And then she just stares.

Fíli, was it?

Holy shit, he was gorgeous. The guy was a lion in human's - excuse me, dwarf's - skin. Seriously, he had a face that made other people look ugly. While Kíli was a ragged handsome-cute combo and their tour leader a sight to recon, Fíli looked like a proper viking with that lion-mane and bright blue eyes. That confident little smirk at the corner of his mouth was not helping in the least.

_Let's not go down that road, sweetheart. Trouble alert! Just keep your distance, good girl._

"You very well  _could have._ I might be a pretty fast runner but they would have caught me eventually and that could have bought you guys a few more minutes with... with me being warg-dinner and so forth," Saaga says as she gathers her thoughts and then shudders at her own words.

Bofur snaps a carrot in half between his teeth and chews passionately enough to have juice dripping down his chin. "Yeah, I don't think that would have made much difference. Have ya seen yourself? They would have swallowed you in two bites. Would have hardly taken them more than a second."

"They could have fought amongst themselves for a free dinner," Kíli supplies helpfully.

"Wargs and orcs alike, I'm sure. A nasty bunch they are," Fíli continues.

"It hardly matters whether she could have stalled them or not. It wasn't her the wolves were after in the first place."

Now that causes an awkward silence. Saaga turns to look at the dwarf sitting a few seats further down the table. He was a young, kind looking thing with a large nose, bangs and warm, brown eyes. He was now slowly turning deep red as everyone turned to stare at him. Saaga cannot remember his name anymore but it had been something that rhymed with  _Nori._

Speaking of which.

"Change the tune why don't you?" Nori snaps suddenly at the elf behind him, dragging their attention off his little brother's miss-spoken words. "I feel like I'm in a funeral."

"Did somebody die?" Óin sputters in confusion, having stuffed his trumpet with the napkin again. 

"Ah, yes. They've killed joy," Saaga smirks, also grateful for the distraction. Her words causing Nori's lips stretch into a smile.

" _Who?"_

"It was a joke, Master Óin. Ever heard of 'jokes'? No?"

"Piss off, lad."

"Alright, enough, there's only one thing for it!"

And then Bofur the-hat-man is climbing _on the dining table_ , pushing few goblets of wine down as he goes. Saaga leans backwards in her chair, spine bent uncomfortably, wineglass safely in her hands. Her eyes are massive when she stares up at the dwarf. That was not proper. At all.

But it was it funny? Oh yeah. But was it also extremely alarming? Yep.

"He's _on the table!_ "

"Aye, he quite likes it there," Balin on her right states, quickly gathering grapes to the safety of his plate.

"Yeah, give lady Saaga a proper show, Bofur!" Someone shouts.

_Oh dear. Why must they make it sound like they're about to start a strip-tease? Thank you but no thank you?_

"Go Bofur! Give us a proper song!"

 

_There is an inn, a merry old inn_

_beneath an old grey hill,_

_And there they brew a beer so brown_

_That the Man in the Moon himself came down_

_One night to drink his fill._

 

There was a potato flying trough the air. An actual potato. But at least the show wasn't a strip-tease. Thank god for the small mercies.

 

_The ostler has a tipsy cat_

_that plays a five-stringed fiddle;_

_And up and down he runs his bow,_

_Now squeaking high, now purring low,_

_Now sawing in the middle._

 

Potato was soon joined by another, then an apple and a pear, followed by dirty laughter.

 

_The landlord keeps a little dog_

_that is mighty fond of jokes;_

_When there's good cheer among the guests,_

_He cocks an ear at all the jests_

_And laughs until he chokes._

 

After that it was pure chaos with dwarves throwing food at each other, laughing, giggling and snickering like small children. They were pushing their hands into their food and throwing the contents of their plates around like they were throwing rose-petals. It is strangely similar of course since they are eating salad. Confused and bit embarrassed at the behavior of her new acquaintances, Saaga turns her eyes towards Balin who merely shrugs and ducks out of the way of a flying fork. Bit dangerous, that.

One of the dark haired brothers - _Bifur?_ \- stands up, banging spoons against his skull. Their eyes meet across the room and Bifur roars with laughter at Saaga's stupefied expression.

" **Good times!** " He shouts with rough voice and at that moment Saaga sees something that makes her drop the wineglass to the ground. She raises her shaking finger while her expression turns distraught and points at Bifur.

" ** _My god_** **, are you aware you have _an axe_  ** **in your head?** "

As if someone had pressed the mute-button on computer, silence falls. The only noise comes from a clattering plate that rolls across the floor, its sound painfully loud in Saaga's ears. Everyone, literally everyone, is staring at her with gobsmacked expression.

_What? Had no one seriously not noticed the axe before? Were they blind as well as stunted?_

" **Lady Saaga** ," Balin says very slowly and very carefully to her. " **Would you mind telling us where have you learned to speak Khuzdûl?** "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Finnish to English:  
> (1) Olenko minä taivaassa? - Am I in heaven?  
> (2) Väsyttää ja jalkoihini sattuu ihan toden teolla, auts... - I feel tired and my legs are sore for real, auts...


	3. Opia

**Opia:** _The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable._

  

" **Lady Saaga** ," Balin repeats very slowly and very carefully. " **Where have you learned to speak Khuzdûl?** "

" **I… haven't?** " Saaga points out just as carefully, tensing under the skeptical looks the dwarves were shooting at her. None of them are really moving but she can feel them retreating further and further away from her, not physically - though some of them do flinch at her words - but mentally. It had felt like she had managed to crack the ice and now they were back to square one. Dwalin's expression is the angriest, his face clearly spelling out:  _see, I told you guys she would screw us over somehow._

Dwalin had a very expressive face for being such a blunt instrument.

Saaga feels her spine stiffen and folds her hands on her lap, averting her own gaze from the dwarves' prying eyes. Her shoulders are almost high enough to reach her ears because of the tension suddenly building up on them. Instantly Saaga is reminded of a turtle hiding in it's shell and the image forces her to lower her shoulders to a more natural level in order to avoid looking like a complete dork. 

She had already somehow managed that, hadn't she? No need to make it worse.

Gandalf is the one to save the woman from under scrutinizing looks and suspicious stares. He stands, his chair screeching against the floor in the silence of the room and walks to her side, helping Saaga to stand with a hand on her elbow. There's nothing she can do about it so Saaga goes up with the movement, zipping up her blue jacket and stuffing her hands in her pockets when standing. The wizard is still looking at her face closely and then his hand raises to take a hold of her jaw. Saaga's brown eyes widen incredulously as her lips purse from the squeeze on her cheeks.

"Open your mouth."

" _Wha_ \- ?!"

"Saaga," the old man says with the most serious of voices, freezing her outraged protest on her lips. Warily, still eyeing Gandalf with utter disbelief, the woman opens her mouth and holds still as Gandalf takes a quick peek.

 _For heaven's sake_ , Saaga thinks, cheeks burning with humiliation, _I do hope I don't have any broccoli stuck on my teeth._

Deep sigh passes from Gandalf's mouth when the wizard finally releases her, like he is somehow relieved but at the same time like there's a new burden stacked up on his back. Saaga on the other hand curses quietly under her breath while shooting dark looks at the old man. She rubs her jaw tenderly. Around the room the dwarves continue exchanging suspicious looks, and Kíli and Fíli are elbowing each other with crinkled foreheads.

"So what's the verdict? Too much caries?" Saaga snarks in order hide her nervousness. 

" _Lady Saaga_ ," Gandalf speaks, eyeing her closely and watching her react. " _Can you understand what I'm saying?_ "

Saaga sniffs.

" _Uh, yeah. I'm not actually deaf even if Òin seems to think so._ "

That causes, surprisingly enough, Glóin to slam his massive fists on the table. The dwarf with the red beard raises to his feet so quickly that the chair behind him tips over, and the clatter makes the female flinch as if from physical pain. 

Glóin is feeling betrayed. If there's something the dwarf hated it was betrayal. They had protected the woman on their way here, carried her when she couldn't walk and here she was, speaking in tongues. And usually in Glóin's experience speaking in tongues meant that the woman was a spy of some kind and whatever she had just said must have been an insult to his brother, just to top it off.

The nerve she had, strolling over here and thinking them stupid enough to fall for her innocent looks.

"What is the meaning of this?" He thunders. "How can she possibly know our sacred language _and_ that cursed gibberish these tree huggers call Elvish? Why has she been let amongst us?  **Tharkûn,** explain yourself!"

"Aye, we demand to know who she is," Dori demands just as loudly. Nori, sitting next to Dori, stares at the woman with a strange look on his face.

"It is not," Gandalf begins with booming voice but lowers it when everyone is listening, "a question of where she has learned it, it is a question of how." His gentle, almost pitying eyes make Saaga swallow in order to avoid the possibility of choking on her own spit. Her small hands are captured between Gandalf's. "She is blessed by the Valar," the wizard explains patiently, "and I do believe she speaks _all_ the languages."

_Okay. Care to repeat that? I can what now, wait what- what?_

The claim evokes loud uproar from the company and excited, yet hushed chatter from the elves surrounding them. Elrond behind them leans back on his chair, face serious. Saaga herself is not feeling exactly anything. She was pretty good at English and she even knew some Swedish as Finns are forced to learn it at school, it being their second official language and all that. On top of it, Saaga had learned some French but that hardly made her such a language genius Gandalf claimed her to be.

"You must be mistaken, Gandalf," Saaga argues, her own disbelieving expression mirroring the ones around them. "I've only ever spoken one language to you all, the one I am speaking right now. And this isn't even my native one."

"The one you are speaking at the moment is called Westron, the most widely known language in all Middle-earth. Do you northerners have your own language?"

Her brain takes a second to decide that apparently English meant Westron in here. Then Saaga eyes the people around her, their harsh glares and dark looks and realizes her feelings are coming dangerously close to a boiling point. What the hell were they accusing her of? She hadn't chosen this. She didn't want to be here. None of this was her fault and yet, they were clearly accusing her of _something_.

"Yes, we have our own language," Saaga thunders, "just like every other race in this room. Except that for some bizarre, and no doubt fantastic reason, I can now speak all of them. Without being aware. Why couldn't I have this ability in my French exam, I don't -… You know what? I don't care. _I don't._ I'm freaking out right now because _this_ ," she points a finger at herself and waves, "is _not okay!_ "

"You just pointed at all of you," Nori's little brother mumbles quietly. 

_Yes, thank you Captain Obvious._

"You have been blessed, lady Saaga," the grey wizard declares again, now smiling that wrinkled, soothing smile that only managed to get Saaga more riled up. "It is a wonderful thing. A gift, even."

"I don't feel _gifted_ ," Saaga fumes. "Gandalf, tell me what is going on. You tell me  _right now_ or I'll swear I-... Wait," she stalls and squints her eyes up to the wizard. "This is the sign, isn't it? The one you were waiting for? The thing you needed in order to believe me?"

Gandalf nods at her, "I do believe so, my dear."

"So now you understand me?" Saaga hisses quietly and steps closer to Gandalf so that others the room hopefully cannot make out the words. "Now that you know I spoke truthfully, will you please help me get home? You understand my situation, right? You understand why I was so upset and why I _need to return back home._ "

"Of course. I shall try my best-"

_I'm sensing a 'but' coming along._

"- but I'm afraid there are still some things that are hidden from our sight. Things we must wait to become clear. However I do promise that I shall try."

"Oh. Well, thank you. Now, what on earth am I supposed to do with this gift?  _Speak?_ You must be joking. Heavens help me, I can barely articulate properly as it is."

"Maybe not speak," Gandalf muses, "but you were capable of reading, am I correct?"

Saaga nods slowly.

"What are you scheming over there? _Oi!_ " Kíli is the one shouting this time, though he looks more upset by getting left out than worried.

"We are planning your future, young Master Dwarf," Gandalf thunders at him, "and you best keep your nose out of it. The future is a dangerous thing, best left to be discovered. We may, however, be able to make it easier on all of us. Master Balin, with us, if you please."

 

* * *

 

When one is left standing in front of Thorin Oakenshield, one was doomed to feel quite tiny. The man himself was actually a bit shorter than Saaga but his royal aura is something else entirely, making you to feel like you should perhaps be on your knees, and that some bowing wouldn't go amiss. Although Thorin has stripped off his heaviest travel wear, he is still a huge man with very nicely shaped muscles. Just to be on point, there are muscles _everywhere_. One cannot help but feel respect and possibly a teensy-tiny bit of attraction. 

Reluctant Saaga is walked to the said company leader by Balin and Gandalf. The woman almost felt like a prisoner between the two men, and barely resists the temptation to struggle against their hold.

"Thorin," Balin begins but is silenced by the fact that he has no idea how to approach the situation at hand.

_That started well. Awesome. Brilliant. Couldn't have gone better._

The solemn dwarf turns to look at them, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders tense. He was a stunningly handsome man and his frosty look grazing over her form makes the woman shift uncomfortably. Next thing that catches Saaga's attention are his clothes because the dwarf was wearing a long, black west over a shirt that almost seemed to consist of silver scales, glimmering gently in the soft light. Thorin had clearly cleaned up good but that did nothing to hide the world-weary lines on his face. His hair, on the other hand, now combed back and sleek, revealed that the man had a pair of stunningly blue eyes.

_Why are all people here so bloody intense here? Was it a thing? Like a Middle-earth thing that I don't quite get? Should I start practicing in front of a mirror to sharpen up my staring-contest skills in order to fit in? Now there's an idea._

"Thorin, you remember lady Saaga of the house Wainio," Gandalf introduces her once more. "She very impressively held against wargs and orcs before briefly joining our company yesterday and later today at dinner."

From Thorin you can immediately tell that he is one of those people who do not enjoy surprises. Despite that, he curiously tilts his head towards Saaga and nods calmly. His hair is a untamed cloud of dark strands and braids, metal beads glittering in low light. Saaga is momentarily distracted by them.

"I am pleased to see you on your feet once again, my lady," Thorin says airily, "as is everyone else in the company."

"Thanks?" Saaga squeaks. Balin's grip on her elbow tightens to almost painful. "I - I mean -."  _Oh jeez._ "I thank you for your kind words, my lord. I am very happy to be alive as well. And that everyone else is also."

_Yeah, speaking. Definitely not my thing._

"Lady Saaga here has been blessed with a fine head, a sharp tongue and a clear pair of eyes. Thorin, I believe she will be able to help us with the problem of the map."

Immediately Saaga can see the change in Thorin: his face darkens and anger comes off of him in waves like heat. The complete change in his mannerisms startles everyone, except for Balin, in the room.

"That map belongs to my people, it is my legacy. I will not hand it over to some Man-child. It is mine to protect and mine to keep." 

His eyes, almost seeming to turn black instead of blue, gaze upon the young woman. She looked defiant but clearly confused, like she wasn't quite sure if she was being insulted or not.

Barely a child she was.

"What could she tell us that we do not already know? What could she see that we cannot?"

"If you believe that she cannot see anything in the map," Gandalf argues tiredly as if this conversation has taken place a hundred times before, "then what is the harm of showing it to her?"

"Let her try, Thorin," Balin joins in, much to the other dwarf's surprise. "The woman is capable of wonders."

Thorin lets his eyes roam over Saaga's form again but merely ends up scoffing. The brunette bristles at him, feeling like the man was looking down on her and it was quite needless to add that she did not enjoy the feeling. Personally, Saaga didn't particularly care whether Thorin allowed her to help him out or not as this was all Gandalf's idea but Thorin didn't have to be rude about it.

_What. A. Jerk._

"No," Thorin delivers the final judgement. "She is just a lass, no expertise, no loyalty to us. The map remains with me."

"It is either her or lord Elrond." This time it is Thorin bristling at Gandalf's words but the wizard just ignores him like he would a petulant child. "Either way, we must learn the truth about the map and at the moment, it can only be discovered by the wisdom of lord Elrond or the eyes of lady Saaga. I would hate to have us all come this far only to turn back empty handed."

Gandalf's words are encouraging and solemn, full of truth. Making his decision while clearly not being happy about it, Thorin reaches inside of his shirt and draws the map out. He stares down at it for a long while before holding it out to Saaga as gingerly as if passing along a national treasure. Which, if Saaga had understood anything about his heated speech, it was.

"Do it then," Thorin snaps at her.

For a second Saaga is tempted to refuse just because Thorin had not even bothered to ask her nicely. Who was he to order her around? Bloody hell, Thorin was actually shorter than her! Saaga was not obligated to take orders from him, thank you very much. In fact, Thorin had been rude to the core while pretending to be nice and then suddenly switched to cold and distant the next moment. There was only one thing that made Saaga lock her fiery comeback behind her teeth.

" _Fine_ ," she snaps back and snatches the parchment, "but only because Santa Claus was nice to me."

Could she have cared less that none of the people in the room understood the reference? Nope. Serves them right, dragging her along into this mess. Besides it was fun too see them all looking confused when none of them dared to ask her what she meant. That's right folks. That's how she felt half of the time.

With great care Saaga folds the map open and looks at the old, crinkled paper. Her eyes roam over it slowly, curiously. There wasn't much to look at, really.

"Far to the North are the Grey Mountains," Saaga reads, "and the Withered Heath whence came the… Great Worms."

Her breath gets stuck to her throat and Saaga almost drops the map from pure shock. There was one in the text she just read and one drawn flying over a big mountain. There was no mistaking it for anything else, not even when such creatures did not exist in her world. Middle-earth was inevitably turning into Saaga's childhood dreamland.

"Is that," the small woman stammers and looks at the three men with impossibly wide eyes, "a dragon?"

_There wasn't a dragon in the movie. There wasn't-.. wait, was there? There had been some kind of flying worm for sure._

"Aye, lass. The greatest doom to ever fall upon our kind," Balin tells her sadly.

"And this," Saaga points to the mountain, "this 'Lonely Mountain'. This is your destination? This is your home?"

"Kíli accidentally revealed that," Balin sighs to Thorin who suddenly looked like he was about to shout at Saaga and demand to know from where she knew that. Upon the older dwarf's words he calms down a little but continues to look disapproving. The circles under his eyes are blue and bruised.

"Tell me then, my lady," Thorin growls. "What can your eyes see that ours cannot?"

"How should I know? I see what I see but it's not like I can see with _your_ eyes." She rolls her eyes at Thorin to enhance her words. It is a small pleasure to watch his jaw tick in annoyance.

_Be confident. Don't let him push you around. Don't let him see you have no idea what is going on._

"First, tell me what can _you_ see and then maybe I can tell you what _only I_ can see. Or if I see anything at all. This might not work, you know."

Thorin takes upon himself a task of tensely striding back and forth while Saaga, Gandalf and Balin bend over the map to go through it. It takes them a while but finally Saaga says something that makes Thorin turn towards them with a incredulous look.

"What about these silver letters?" Saaga slides the tip of her fingers over empty space on the map. "Can you see these?"

Gandalf's face breaks into a wide smile and he sends Thorin a knowing look. "We do not, lady Saaga. I believe we would be greatly in your debt if you would be kind enough to read those letters out loud."

Saaga takes a breath. She was about to read the phrase, she really was, but then Saaga's eyes flittered towards Thorin. She looks at his dark features, his tense posture and eyes filled with heat. She looks at Balin's earnest, expectant, and kind face. Then she turned to stare at Gandalf. Slowly, her sombre eyes narrowed. She thrusts the map forcefully back to Thorin's armored chest and the dwarfs lets out the most embarrassing grunt he surely would not admit to later. 

_Thorin and his precious fucking map. Oh, it's not damaged, stop looking like I kicked your puppy._

"No!" Saaga yelps out loud, " _No!_ If I read this then you'll leave me here. Ain't going to happen! You're my ticket home Gandalf and I'm not letting you out of my sight, not before you can guarantee me a way home. Not until we have figured out this madness. We already discussed that. You promised to help me! I will not be left alone again!"

Saaga breaths heavily, her brown eyes burning with sudden fear and partly annoyance. Surely they cannot mean to leave her! She would never survive in the wild on her own and without Gandalf, who seemed to be the only one truly concerned about her fate - not to mention Gandalf being the only one to truly understand her position - she was doomed. Saaga shakes her finger threateningly at Thorin like a school teacher would to a child which merely makes the dwarf glare harder.

"If Gandalf is coming with you, then so am I! You promise me to keep me safe, Thorin Oakenshield, by… by your family's honor and by your words and I shall read these words for you. Otherwise, my lips are sealed."

For the good measure, Saaga draws her pinched fingers over her mouth as if closing a zipper. Thorin is not likely to understand the gesture but the main meaning behind it was clear enough.

"We cannot take another burden to worry about," Thorin raises his voice at her. "The burglar is a heavy enough weight to carry. We will not take _a lady_ as well."

"Don't you 'lady' me, Oakenshield," the Finn spits back just as angrily. "I will come with you whether you like it or not. Where Gandalf is going, I go as well. Of course, if you leave _him_  behind then I'm happy to stay as well. No problem at all, I'll even wave you goodbye at the gates."

"That's clearly not an option," Gandalf harrumphs.

"Well, there you have it," Saaga hisses. "I'm coming along."

"You are _not_."

"Then those secret words shall remain just that: a secret."

"We cannot take a lady with us. You'll never survive the journey."

"Your faith is my gender is astonishing," Saaga sneers, "but I have great news for you. I'm not actually a lady. Just Saaga is fine with me, feel free to call me that."

For a split-second Saaga almost expects Thorin to strike her across her face, he looks angry enough. Thankfully he doesn't and refrains to merely glaring daggers at her, most likely imagining separating Saaga's head from the rest of her body.

"Those are probably Moon Runes she sees", Gandalf muses as if to himself but has everyones attention anyway, "and they can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written." He directs his words at Thorin especially. "Even if we were to convince lord Elrond to help us read them, are you willing to lose the time it takes to find out when it is possible?"

Thorin is gritting his teeth forcefully, the heat of his scowl making the hairs on Saaga's arms stand up as a warning. Right, maybe it was not wise to test just how far this dwarf's patience ran.

"She is a better choice, Thorin," Balin agrees. "I don't feel comfortable showing the map to an elf, no matter how wise he might be. And the lass is in good health. I doubt she'll slow us down."

A long silence follows as the angry dwarf continues to stare at Saaga, who can only glare back nervously. She shuffles on her feet.

"Fine," Thorin succumbs reluctantly, "but I cannot vouch for your life to remain intact. I can only promise to do my best."

"Promise me your word," Saaga stresses. "Promise me to take me with you and to protect me to the best of your abilities. Promise by the honor of your word and... and by the honor of your family."

That's all she could come up with in the heat of the moment.

"I promise," Thorin spits the words out as if disgusted, offering the map back to the stubborn northern woman. By Durin's beard, he was beginning to remember why he had never particularly liked the fairer sex and their temper. "Now read the words."

Saaga doesn't need the map. She remembers the phrase clearly as a day, letters glimmering in her mind, like painted on a bright, white canvas.

_"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's day will shine upon the keyhole."_

 

 

* * *

  

Saaga could hardly believe her own eyes. For all her life she has believed herself to be rude and difficult to get along with. Saaga was sometimes impolite, her temper was quick to rise and she had a sharp tongue when the situation suited her. All that said, the woman had never believed to find anyone to rival with it. She definitely hadn't expected to find entire race being capable of that.

"Hey," Saaga says faintly. "What are you burning?"

"Oh hello again, my fair lady," Bofur greets her in surprise and turns to look up at Saaga. The flames of their fire make his black eyes flicker in amusement. "We're burning some Elvish furniture. Great smell, don't you think?"

_Alrighty, then!_

Saaga looks at the laughing bunch of dwarves - most of them haven't noticed her yet - and cannot help the smile that rises to her dry, cracked lips.

Sadly, she was already missing her lip-balm. And make-up. Lotions. Shavers, shampoo, conditioner, hair-dryers, _toilet paper_... Ah, let's not go there, shall we?

While Thorin Oakenshield might have been a right pain in her butt, Saaga couldn't help but feel amused by the rest of the company. Meaning, she quite liked them. They were like puppies that needed their bellies scratched and what kind of a monster would ever refuse a puppy? Initially she hadn't cared much what they thought of her and she hadn't felt pressured to make friends either but now, after everything was said and done with Thorin, she should probably at least try. These were the people she was going to be traveling with for the next... well, she didn't really know for how long. Nobody had been able to tell Saaga how many kilometers it was to the Lonely Mountain.

In the end she didn't really care where they were going as long as she could tag along with Gandalf. And yes, she had said that out loud and, double yes, in front of Thorin.

He hadn't cared much for that declaration.

"You want something to eat, my lady?" Not really expecting an answer Bofur is already offering her roasted sausage and smiling that dimpled smile. As pointed out, how could anyone say no to those puppy eyes? Saaga is forcefully dragged back into the moment and accepts the greasy goodness from Bofur.

"Thanks," Saaga smiles at the dwarf and takes a seat next to him. Her motions are still stiff but whatever mint-smelling salve Lindir had plastered on her legs, it was working miracles. 

"The dinner was a bit  _green_ for our liking," Bofur explains as he patiently waits for the woman to arrange herself on the floor, "so we decided to have our own."

"I thought it was alright. Some chicken would have improved it massively though, I agree," Saaga says as she zips her jacket closed. If she could help it, she preferred not to have every single one of her clothes smelling of smoke.

"I hate green food," Nori's little brother confesses from Saaga's right while shaking his head sadly. "Could barely stomach it."

The woman laughs and then feels bad for having to ask: "Hey, look, I'm sorry but I totally missed your name at the introductions. What was it again?"

Nori's little brother doesn't look at all surprised by that which is a little sad. "I am Ori son of Gorir. Well met, lady Saaga."

"Of course you would remember my name. How could we make this any more embarrassing?"

Ori looks shocked. "I wouldn't-"

"No! No, I was just teasing. Don't worry about it. No, no, _I'm_ sorry."

"Enough apologizing, the both of ya", Bofur cuts in but despite his firm words he is smiling. "We will still be here at lunch tomorrow if ya continue like this. How did the meeting go? What was the judgement on yer... gift?"

Bofur's words make Saaga release a massive sigh which in return make Bofur raise a curious eyebrow. The woman shrugs.

"Uh, Gandalf declared me gifted. I think that's the end of it."

"Well, how do you  _feel?"_ Ori asks, his eyes gleaming, and suddenly Saaga felt a lot like Ori would make a brilliant mad-scientist. "This is the first time I've seen anyone who has been blessed by the Makers themselves."

"I don't... really feel any different from yesterday."

"How disappointing," Ori pouts and fiddles with the end of this woolen scarf.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No! I'm sorry! I didn't mean-"

"Yes,  _I know."_

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

Bofur looks like just listening them talk is making him suffer. 

They laugh at the expression dwarf's face and then Saaga remembers what she had decided earlier that night. She scratches her nose absentmindedly. "By the way, you can drop the lady-thing now. It's fine. Just Saaga is fine."

Much to her surprise, Bofur and Ori both suddenly looked like they had inhaled a sausage instead of swallowing it.

"My lady!" Bofur gasps, almost choking on his food and bangs his chest.

Ori continues where he left off, "We wouldn't even dare to think of such thing!"

Confused, Saaga takes another bite of her own food. It was delicious, just as she expected. It seemed that all the food in Middle-earth was strictly organic and at least that was something she was going to immensely enjoy.

"Why not? I already told Thorin to stop it. Besides, it makes me feel uncomfortable. I'm not used to it. I'm not exactly made of lady-material."

"Well," Ori mutters thoughtfully, "Thorin is a king so I believe he can do as he likes. The same does not go with the rest of us."

Had Saaga been sitting on a chair, she would have fallen off of it right about now. "Care to repeat that? Did you just say Thorin is _a king_?!"

"Aye, he is," Bofur confirms. "Or he will be when we get our mountain back - …" Bofur stops suddenly and looks sheepishly at Ori, who is rolling his eyes at the other, groaning while at it. He hadn't been the only one to spill their secrets in the end. "Now that I wasn't supposed to say out loud. Please forget what I said."

"I would pretend to be momentarily deaf if it would be necessary," Saaga finds herself saying, still in shock, "but Thorin already told me where you were going. Or you know, I blackmailed him into telling me." Saaga's nails are digging into her cheek as she stares into flames. Apparently the dwarves hadn't liked one of the long benches as much as the others and it was now slowly turning into heat and ash. Saaga goes on, "I have _blackmailed a king_. Holy hell. Why didn't I realize that? Or more importantly, why can I never keep my big mouth shut?"

Bofur and Ori are exchanging concerned looks over her hunched back.

"I don't think anyone can tell Thorin to do anything he doesn't want to," Ori tries to tell her soothingly.

"But I did", Saaga mutters. "I convinced him to take me with you. _That's_ why I was hoping you could drop the lady-thing."

"Ye're coming with us?"

Bofur's surprised voice is loud enough to cut through the hassle around the campfire. All the dwarves turn to stare at her, finally realizing there was a stranger amongst them, before escalating into loud commotion.

_Ah. Should have known they weren't going to be happy about that._

"It is not safe for a lady!"

"It is not a good idea!"

"Please reconsider!"

"Quiet!" Saaga bellows over their shouts and relishes in their astonished expressions. Most likely nobody since their own mothers have raised voice against theirs in such way. "It has already been decided," Saaga informs them strictly, "Thorin needs me if there are more riddles at the door of the mountain. While some things are mysteries to you, they are all very readable to me, thanks to my... gift. You need me," she announces, "and I need Gandalf if I am ever to return home. So I'm coming with you. We all benefit from this arrangement, so shut it. End of the story!"

There are grumbles. There are half-hearted attempts to make Saaga change her mind but since Thorin has given the woman his word there is really nothing they can do about it. Ori is looking at her worriedly and Bofur isn't looking much happier either.

"My lady, if you are truly coming with us then you better go prepare yourself."

"What, like, right now?"

"Aye," Bofur whispers. "We're leaving tonight."


	4. Sonder

**Sonder:** _The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own._

 

It was still in the middle of the night by Saaga's standards when the company begins their journey from Rivendell. The morning sun barely enlightens the path while small birds sing around them in high voices, flittering from one tree to another, seeming to follow their slow trudge upwards.

Saaga agrees wholeheartedly with the tiny birds. This beautiful morning could only be improved by one thing: screaming.

Her whole life had turned upside-down the second Saaga had been smacked in the face with the realization that she was not on her usual running-track anymore and it had just been total downhill from there. Here she was, twenty-five years old, almost college graduate, hiking in the woods with _dwarves_. Soon to be joined by a _wizard_. It was like a beginning of a bad joke.

"My life is a joke. A+ for comedy," Saaga mutters desperately out loud, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulders. Others weren't delighted by the early morning wake-up call either and were grumbling darkly into their beards, the pots and pans hanging from their backpacks clanging with every step, leather creaking and breaths quickening with every push up the road. The first few days of traveling were always the weariest. The backpacks were heavy and boots not yet molded into shape.

The Finn hadn't had much to take with her upon their departure. Along with her own clothes Saaga had taken some clean tunics, trousers, and knickers ( _'undergarments' they called them in here which had made her laugh_ ) that she had managed to gather. Gandalf had also helped her to get some basic everyday things like soap, a bloody terrifying hunting knife Saaga was pretty sure she would eventually impale herself on, a comb and a pair of scissors, a thick blanket, warm travel clothes, and a heavy cape that was pinned under her jaw. Not to mention the assortment of different kinds of dried fruits, meats and nuts she had, _ehem_ , borrowed from the elves. Her home keys - the only thing she had been carrying with her while jogging - were secured on a leather strip that ran around her neck and itched something terrible. Apparently, for elves, pockets weren't a thing. Such weird creatures they were.

Speaking of weird, even her attempt to say goodbye to Lindir - without actually getting to saying it - had been a miserable attempt at it's best. She could feel the back of her neck heat up just by thinking about it.

"Um, Lindir?" Saaga had said as the elf had poked and probed the muscles on her calves the previous evening, making her squeak. To be fair, if you've ever gotten a massage meant for athletes, you know 'relaxing' is the last word to describe it with. It hurt like a motherfucker, more like.

"Yes, my lady?" 

"I just-.. You've been wonderful and I haven't really said anything so far, so... Thank you."

His cold, brown eyes soften at the edges and Lindir smiles, looking almost surprised. " _You are welcome_ ," he says and then the calm and calculative look returns, "I'm sure you understand I must advice you to avoid the most straining exercises for a while longer. Compliments to me will not hasten the process."

"Of course," Saaga had whispered, her fingers crossing behind her back. "You done?"

"Yes. There seems to be no lasting damage in the legs, the bruise on your shoulder has healed nicely and the rest of the scrapes are on their way there."

"So... I'll survive? I'm all patched up?"

Lindir had given her a strange look, "Of course. You were under my supervision."

"Right, well, it has been an absolute pleasure. Well, not all the time. But sometimes. Mostly when you're not determined to separate muscle from bone." 

Lindir's look had slowly turned from inexpressive to suffering and in the end towards a glare. Her goodbye-slash-thank-you speech hadn't gone as Saaga had planned.

Still, the woman had swallowed and allowed her eyes map the doctor's face, having to wonder if she was ever going to see the man again. Lindir had been the first kind face she had seen, indefinitely patient, and ready to listen and pour her more herbal tea in times of existential crisis. Saaga had felt her throat contract and eyes itch, so she had decided in favor of a hasty retreat. Goodbyes had never been her favorites. 

She could only pray that there would come a day when she could sit down with the elf-doctor and explain the significance of his kindness; a day when she could properly tell him exactly how lost and scared she had been, and how Lindir had calmed her down and forced her to stop and think and breathe. 

"I'm off then. I'll see you later? Stay real, Lindir!"

_Oh for christ's sake. You're an embarrassment to your entire family._

Yep. That goodbye had been a dreadful experience. For Lindir and her, both.

Before the company had vanished off in the morning gloom there had been a long inner struggle with Saaga. The question being, should she save her sneakers or not? After a brief confirmation from Gandalf, Saaga had decided to put on a pair of tough leathered hiking-boots but her trainers did find their way into her backpack. She had to make room for them but hell, she liked those shoes. They were actually hers, not borrowed from someone. Saaga wasn't going to part with them anytime soon if she could help it.

In the end, favoring the hiking boots had been a wise decision. The ground was so wet from the morning mist that Saaga's trainers wouldn't have stood a chance. The rest of her own modern clothes were firmly packed at the bottom of her backpack in case the weather got chilly. She could slip the jacket and leggings under her more plain-looking travel wear, and no one would be none the wiser but Saaga herself much warmer. Tech-clothing in Middle-earth, it was as good as a blessing.

Without a doubt the most peculiar garment however, out of all the bizarre things she had encountered, was her new 'bra', packed firmly to the bottom of her belongings like she was ashamed of it. Apparently it was common for women to merely wear some kind of a corset ( _uh, hell no_ ) or on a journey bind their chests firmly with linen or not wear anything over their breasts and under their dresses at all. For now, Saaga had pulled on the sport-bra she had had when she had worn all of her modern clothes but it was not guaranteed for how long she could manage with just one. Grudgingly Saaga had packed some linen as well. Better to be safe than sorry, right? She would take the linen over a corset any day.

Gosh, sometimes it would have been a lot more easier to be a man.

"Be on your guard; we're about to step over the edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths; lead on," Thorin calls up ahead, jerking Saaga out of her thoughts.

"Aye."

Thorn turns to look somewhere behind all of them, and being a curious child, Saaga follows his gaze. Dori who is walking right behind her almost bumps on to her, dodging at the last second and grunting angrily as he brushes past.

"Sorry," Saaga mutters but Dori has already moved on. The silver-haired dwarf nudges Ori onwards as well when the scribe had looked like he was lingering to let Saaga catch up with him. 

_This company is just full of delightful personalities, am I right?_

"Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up," Thorin calls.

Saaga decides to stop altogether. She soon realizes that she had not noticed that one of the men was actually even shorter than the others which was quite an achievement considering that the dwarves were not exactly the tallest of races. _The creature -_ for the lack of a better word - was tiny like a child but had a face of an adult. His hair looked soft and was lightly curled over pointed ears. He was like a small fairy or _menninkäinen*_ or an elf from Finnish folklore. And he was barefoot unlike the rest of them. Proportionally he was quite funny looking fellow with small body and large, hairy feet.

And he definitely wasn't a dwarf. Which at the moment, because of Saaga's continuing irritation towards Thorin and now also Dori, was a big plus.

The brunette waits for the small man to catch up with her, smiling her best  _let's-be-friends_ smile. 

"Don't worry, Thorin doesn't like me either. We can be outcasts together, if you like?"

As Saaga had hoped, her words bring a hesitant smile on the creature's lips. It lights up his whole expression and brings life back into his eyes. Apparently he was one of those who were simply not created to be upset; a smile suited the man a lot better. Now that he was standing closer to her, Saaga could see the profound differences between the man and the dwarves. To put it simplistically, the only thing they seemed to have in common was their vertical restrictions. They clearly weren't of same race.

"Thank you, lady Saaga. Very kind of you to say that."

"I'm afraid you have me at disadvantage," Saaga confesses and sniffs embarrassedly. "I'm sorry but I've been introduced to so many people lately I have hard time remembering everyone's names."

That startles the small man and he stops to bow at her deeply. "Of course! Please forgive my rudeness. I am Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, from the Shire. At your service."

"None of that lady-nonsense, _please,"_ she rolls her eyes towards the sky, "I insist that you call me Saaga."

"Only if you call me Bilbo," the hobbit smiles blindingly brightly at her. Saaga is happy to take note that apparently she wasn't the only one bothered by the fancy speech everyone else seemed so fond of. There was a limited amount of times one wanted to be reminded of being different gender than the others during one day.

"So, tell me, what are you exactly?"

_Oh my god, Saaga! You can't just ask people what species they are._

"Oh, I'm a hobbit."

Bilbo's words make Saaga's steps unexpectedly falter and she stops, staring at the man with unblinking eyes. Bilbo stops as well and turns to look at Saaga questioningly over his shoulder. 

A hobbit? _A hobbit!_  It had been _a hobbit_ , the one who carried the Ring in the Lord of the Rings. A hobbit that lived in the hole in the ground, of course.

However, Saaga was pretty sure Bilbo hadn't been in the movies so there was one thing that bothered her immensely: "-but I thought hobbits didn't like traveling? I thought you enjoyed staying home. Not that I have nothing against that mindset, on the contrary, I totally relate. Apple-pie life for the win, I say."

In the end it wasn't the only question Saaga had about Bilbo's species. Soon the air is filled with their cheery chatter and Saaga's exclamations like 'You eat how many times a day?' and 'Oh, I would have smacked that Lobelia-woman!' and 'You live under ground? What are you, rabbits?'. Yes, the last one wasn't her proudest moment and it earned her a strange look from Bilbo, but at least it seemed she had made a... had she actually managed to make a friend? Apparently, yes. 

"I was hired on this journey because we hobbits are so light on our feet. The kids are the best; the elders have hard time trying to catch them sneaking to the cookie-jar. They are scarily talented, the lads and lasses. I'm afraid I won't be of much assistance otherwise if-.. if we are to come across any trouble."

"What trouble?" 

"Well... a fight, for example," Bilbo says warily, fiddling with the buttons on his vest with one hand and sword-handle with another. It was surprising the man had a sword at all. He looked way too kind to be carrying one. If they were going to end up in a fight, at least Bilbo had the advantage of surprise.

Saaga whips her face towards him, her words barely a disbelieving whisper: "Why would we end up in a fight? I can't fight. I might die. Can you fight?"

"Well, not really, no."

"Oh. Then, a correction: we might die."

"Best we stick together then?"

"Mm-hm."

Saaga and Bilbo both sneak a wary glance at each other. They had a feeling this whole journey was going to end in tears, at least for the pair of them.

Their company climbs higher and higher as the day drags forward. Saaga's legs are starting to ache again and her new boots are rubbing against her toes in the most painful of ways. The straps of the backpack are sinking into her shoulders and the air is getting thinner the higher they get.

"I hate adventures," the woman proclaims heatedly when she almost trips over loose rocks. Bilbo shoots the human a disbelieving look, not even having to look down. His toes curl over the rocks and sink into the earth with ease.

"Surely you don't mean that. Why else would you have joined the company?"

"Out of necessity," Saaga mutters. "I need to stick with Gandalf. He's going, so I'm going. We're planning to meet him again in the mountains. What about you, have you always enjoyed adventures? This your favorite way to pass time I'm insulting here?"

"I suppose I enjoy adventures as much as the next hobbit," Bilbo shrugs, hurrying his steps to keep up with her, "which means that I wasn't even supposed to come on this journey. But the world is a curious place. I'm here, aren't I?"

"That you are. If you ask me, I'm glad you decided to come. I feared I would have to walk the whole way in judgmental silence." 

Saaga shoots a dark look at the dwarves' backsides. They were already climbing much higher, letting the distance grow. Whether they were doing it subconsciously or deliberately, Saaga wasn't sure.

"I guess the Tookish side of my bloodline took over and so, I found myself signing the contract to became a burglar. And the dwarves have a noble cause," the hobbit continues. "They want to reclaim the home they once lost, no matter how great the foe they must overcome. Surely I couldn't call myself a gentlehobbit hadn't I offered my help, as insignificant as it might be in the end."

Bilbo's words are like a slap against her face. Saaga recoils, almost slipping on the ground crumbling under her boot. She huffs and with Bilbo's help finds her balance again.

While Saaga had been completely wrapped up in her own misery, in her own pitiful existence, the woman hadn't spared a thought for the actual quest that she had joined; the meaning behind it, the significance, wasn't something she had understood. All the woman had cared about had been not to be separated from the wise wizard.

"To tell you the truth," Saaga quietly admits, "I joined this company out of my own selfish reasons. I forced my way into this mess. Yeah, Thorin wasn't too happy about that," she adds when Bilbo hides a snigger behind the palm of his hand, "-but after speaking with you… I don't know. In the situation I am in right now, I kinda get it." 

Saaga looks at the dwarves climbing ahead of them. She gazes over their haggard clothes and heavy bags, their scarred faces and hands. Yeah, she could sympathize. She wasn't a monster after all.

"I'm not saying I've had an enlightenment or anything, but I think I understand how they feel. I get it. I think I can even sympathize with Thorin _,_ that grumpy idiot. He has been so bloody rude to me, but I think I now see the reason behind his behavior and his rashness. After all, who wouldn't want to go home?" 

Saaga looks over her shoulder, down the mountainside, to the world stretching out before her eyes. Her heart aches when she thinks of the safe warmth of her couch and her apartment. Would she really defy a dragon if it meant getting back home?

Well, how hard could it be?

 

 

 

* * *

 

Of course, eventually, Saaga's thoughts turn more and more towards _fuck dwarves who wished to behave like total asshats and to hell with their Mission Impossible._

But how did she end up with this line of thought?

Well, let me enlighten you.

The first night sleeping on the ground was surprisingly okay. Nobody seemed to expect Saaga or Bilbo to volunteer for the night-watch which meant they got a full nights sleep every night. While wilderness was definitely creepy and they felt exposed without the cover of the woods, slow breathing and snoring of the dwarves combined with heavy smell of the fire lull the pair into sleep almost effortlessly. That is, as long as they keep their ears hidden from the biting mountain wind.

If Saaga's back aches and head hurts the next morning, she doesn't even dare to think about complaining. She had forced herself along. There was nothing anyone could do about her discomfort. Hiking was not the most pleasant way of traveling but it was not impossibly uncomfortable either. She would manage and show everyone who underestimated her that she wasn't made of sugar; that she didn't just melt away in a little drizzle.

Besides, Bilbo was a lovely traveling companion and Saaga finds herself becoming fast friends with the hobbit. It was easier to be with him because most of the dwarves had sided with Thorin now that they were actually on their way to the mountain. The king had made a habit of glaring at the odd pair as if he couldn't quite believe the two of them had managed to weasel their way in to the company.

All the non-dwarf members were a burden, they got it; there was no need to rub in their faces. Seething, Saaga promises herself that if there really are any riddles on the mountain-door when they finally reach it, she was going to make Thorin pay for treating them like dirt.

"Don't let them bother you," Bilbo had quietly whispered when they were eating dinner two nights later, sitting as far away from the others as they dared. "Dwarves are a tight bunch, we shouldn't expect to get along with them too quickly. They are extremely family-oriented and secretive. They do not trust other races."

"Family-oriented? Secretive?" Saaga had snorted, "I believe you have those words mixed with racist."

Most of the time the dwarves just ignored the pair altogether and Saaga was a little hurt to see Kíli, Fíli and Ori following the example of others. She guessed they were closest to her age and she wouldn't have minded the conversation. Hell, Saaga would even take small-talk at this point and that was saying something, her being a Finn and all. It looked like their friendliness and fun, easy-going nature had vanished like a fart into the winds of Sahara.

It was total bullshit to watch Fíli and Kíli play with those round, colored stones to pass the time in the evenings when the only thing her interested staring caused was for them to turn their backs. It was heartbreaking to notice Ori looking at her and Bilbo, clearly wanting to come over but every time - even when he just looked like he might be thinking about it - stopped and distracted by Dori or Nori. It caused Saaga's nails sink into her fists when Dwalin pushed Bilbo around, ordering him to pick up his sword time and time again only to swat it off. Dwalin did it all without breaking a sweat, the look of displeasure never leaving his expression. The woman was of course intrigued by Bilbo's lessons as she had never seen proper swords nor swordplay before. Thus when Dwalin kept correcting Bilbo's grip on his small sword, that the warrior kept calling 'letter opener' under his breath in Khuzdûl, Saaga found her own fingers twitching. She would curl her hands around air, mimicking the position on Bilbo's hands, her neck stretching in order to see better. It was only when she realized Kíli and Fíli were looking at her and snickering, that the northern woman would duck her head down, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"What are you looking at?" She would snap at the pair, making them turn and leisurely stroll in the opposite direction. Those assholes.

And so, none of the dwarves necessarily bullied nor said a bad word about them but they did openly express their dislike in all other ways. It was radiating from them like a bad smell, always lingering underneath.

" _Why_ are they being a bunch of complete asswipes? Does this give them some twisted from of pleasure or something?" Saaga muttered to Bilbo, making the hobbit almost choke on his soup. 

"Um, no. I think they want us to turn around. I think they want us to give up."

Truth to be told, Saaga was more than tempted to do exactly that.

She was tempted to turn around altogether more than once, and perhaps she would have, were it not for Bilbo and those shy, embarrassed smiles Bofur shoot them sometimes. It made Saaga put her thoughts on abandoning the dwarves on hold. She could take on a bunch of assholes. Like she had said, the woman wasn't made out of sugar.

And so, Saaga's days became a repetitive cycle. You wake up, startled by a different sound each morning but startled nonetheless. Gone were mornings where you could leisurely stay in bed 'till noon. Instead you get up, gather your shit together, eat a small breakfast, walk, eat rest of the breakfast on the go. Finally stop for dinner, quietly talk to Bilbo, then keep on walking. Avoid Thorin. Avoid all the dwarves but also avoid straying too far behind because that made them glare. Eat a late lunch, curl on the ground as comfortably as you are able and then fall into a coma, because you are simply too exhausted to consider this insane situation when you remember you will have to get up again tomorrow morning and walk some more. You have too many things to worry about? How about a nap instead? Startle awake the next morning.

Bilbo and Saaga took turns cheering each other up. It was the only thing keeping them sane amongst whispering dwarves, dark glares and the ignoring. It took about a week until this cycle was broken and things went straight to hell. That is, to describe it modestly.

It started as a mist, all innocent. Thick and wet it surrounded them like the softest blanket, muffling their voices and limiting their sight. Then came darkness as black clouds gathered over their heads and proceeded to pour their contents down, drenching them to core. Harsh wind blew water droplets in every nook and corner of their clothes and it made Saaga's brown hair stick to her face. The feeling reminded her of cold noodles and every time they smattered over her cheeks, the Finn shivered. Yeah, she was used to dry and cold weather like every northerner but  _wet_ and cold weather? That wore anyone down. Ask anyone from Helsinki**.

"This was not the kind of adventure I had in mind when I left Shire!"

Bilbo is yelling at Saaga over the wind, his face entirely covered by his hood, strong wind and rain making him stumble mid-speech. Bilbo's cloak got wind under it's sails now and then, almost flinging the small man off his feet and turning him into a hobbit-shaped kite.

"Wouldn't it make a great story if this ended with you blown off into the distance?" Saaga cackles in response, bumping on the rocks protruding out of mountainside and then muttering curses under her breath in her native language to flip them off.

"I am not discussing that possibility with you. I am so cross right now! So cross you wouldn't believe it! This is not a place for a gentlehobbit."

As the wind sprayed another rivulet of cold water straight on her face, Saaga wondered for the hundredth time that day what on earth were they doing. Exchanging glances with Bilbo, the pair of them was starting to realize just how truly and deeply they were regretting coming along with Thorin's company. What a terrible, terrible idea it had been.

_Yes, yes, do go on an adventure with a bunch of dwarves. It's gonna be fun! Who the fuck thought that up? Oh yes, I did. Congratulations, you are an idiot._

Their mountain-path has all but disappeared and now the whole company was helplessly dangling on a narrow mountain edge, gripping the mountainside. 

_Has nobody ever thought of - oh, I don't know - railings?!_

Their knuckles shine white and gritted teeth are the only things to be seen under the company's heavy hoods. The nature seemed to have a love-hate relationship with them, minus the love-part. Just full-blown hate, really.

"Hold on!" Thorin shouts over the loud booms of thunder, his voice surprisingly strong over it. "Dwalin, take care of the halfling! Glóin, you're with the woman!"

_'The woman'?! I have a name, you bastard!_

Saaga's protests are drowned under thunder and lighting and blown away from her lips by howling wind. Giving up, she reluctantly moves closer to the red-bearded dwarf, gripping his cloak with one hand and wet, disgustingly slippery rocks with other. Glóin nods at Saaga from over his shoulder, not looking happy with the arrangement but accepting it for now. Saaga just purses her lips together and stares at the ground, feeling cold inside out.

Suddenly before them the path beneath Bilbo's feet gives away and a shocked shriek that nobody hears over the rain escapes from Saaga's lungs.

"BILBO, VARO!"(1) Saaga yelps, her grip getting loose from Glóin's cloak as she rushes forward but the dwarf was wide enough to block the whole pathway and the woman cannot get past him without endangering herself. Fortunately Dwalin manages to get a firm grip of the stumbling hobbit and pull him back to safety. Saaga's scream dies out and she slumps against Glóin arm, her heart hammering in her chest. Noticing his friend's wide, terrified eyes, Bilbo waves at Saaga to tell her he was okay.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin roars at them.

"Watch out!"

This time the shout comes from Dwalin. Saaga snaps her eyes up from the protection of the hood just to see a huge rock hurtling through air. Her eyes widen an inch more. With a thunderous crack the rock slams against mountaintop, its sound making their bones rattle together from the force and forcing Glóin to sweep her to his side and to safety. Next the mountaintop crumbles before the company's very eyes, raining down massive pieces of pebble and stone.

"This is no thunderstorm; it's a thunder battle! Look!"

It's nothing like Saaga has ever seen before or even could have imagined in her wildest dreams. A giant shape takes form before them, swaying back and forth on it's stony legs. It's hand - made of rock as well - rips off a massive boulder from the top of the mountain. Bofur behind Saaga is just as awed as she is.

"Well bless me, the legends are true. Giants; Stone Giants!"

"I don't exactly feel _blessed,_ " Saaga screams back.

"It seems ya never do, on principle!"

They share smiles filled with hysteria, adrenaline and respect for the giant being before them looks like a god compared to their tiny bodies.

"Take cover: you'll fall!"

The giant throws the boulder as if in slow motion, the ground shakes, and then another stony monster appears from behind them. Rock against rock, it stumbles backwards as it is hit in the head. Glóin turns and wraps his chunky arms around Saaga even though she is the taller one. Saaga can barely see, the thundering of the giants vibrating all the way down her lungs, making it almost impossible to even draw a breath.

"Hold on, lass!"

The whole mountain groans in pain and splits in two. All Saaga is capable of is holding on for her dear life and screaming silently along with everybody else, the world becoming a great grey blur in her eyes. Saaga cannot even tell if the rushing in her ears is her own blood or the heavy rain or the raining rock. When Glóin joins with his own deep roar into their screaming choir, Saaga is forced to sneak a peak over his bicep. She almost faints for the second time in her life.

Knee of a giant is approaching, diving through the rain, inevitably coming closer and closer. Baby hairs at the back of her neck rise and her death-grip on Glóin only tightens. Behind her, Saaga can feel Bofur huddling closer to them and for a moment she is selfishly glad she was not left to die alone. Then their heads almost explode from the sound the mountain makes. The giant's knee crashes above them and small rocks bang painfully against Saaga's head and scrape her cheeks as they tumble down around them. Glóin shelters her with his arm, grunting as some of the rocks hit him.

"It didn't hit us! Run! Run!" Somebody shouts and they all push themselves forward, half blind, their movements frenzied because of adrenaline.

The earth groans and croaks, clearly having other ideas, trembling under the company's boots like a child shivering from cold, and for a moment Saaga thinks she’s imagining it but no, nope, the pathway is really trembling. She has never experienced an earthquake before and really, if it would have been left up to her decision, she would have let things remain that way.

”Fíli, grab my hand!” They can hear Kíli’s urgent command from somewhere ahead and then Bofur and Glóin are shoving Saaga towards the sound. They probably knew that if they left her behind, she would most likely stay behind, frozen in fear. And that clearly wouldn't do as long as Thorin's orders were to be followed.

”Oh god,” Saaga gasps, halts, and watches the path literally split in two between the brothers. Meter by meter the distance grows, too quickly for anyone to attempt to jump across it. They are still reaching for each other, Fíli and Kíli, staring in horror at being separated by the forces of nature.

”Durin help us,” Bofur mutters behind her and Glóin grunts in agreement.

It doesn’t end there. Of course it doesn’t. How could things get any worse, you might wonder.

Well, apply a stone giant number three, add fear coursing through their veins times ten, and multiply that with the surprise of realizing they are standing on one of the giant’s knees, and then you might be close to getting the whole picture.

”Are ya joking right now?” Bofur yelps, gripping his hat and stumbling against the mountain side - eh, knee.

Fíli yells his little brother’s name until they are swung away from sight and the other half of the company disappears between the rock walls. Wind shrieks and whistles and sprays water over them as the giant takes a step slowly, then one after another. Every joined point with the ground makes the stony leg shake enough for the four of them to be almost shaken off their ride.

”There! There, look!” Bofur points towards a mountainside and he, Glóin, Fíli and Saaga look as the rest of the company scrambles off the giant and on proper road. Well, it was nice to see someone had survived at least. Saaga lets out a relieved breath when her eyes make out Bilbo's small shape amongst the others.

”They made it!”

”Oh, thank the Great Maker!”

The fist fight of stone-gods is still going on though as they are quickly reminded when their ride stumbles. They can’t really see anything, only listen to the cracks and booms but whatever is going on, their giant isn't faring too well at it.

”Oh, don’t you lose now!” Fíli roars in frustration, slamming his fist against rock. It makes a sadly wet sound.

The four of them swing through the air, riding on the giant's knee, and all Saaga herself is capable of is scream in shock as they suddenly whoosh past the other half of the company. They just seem to appear out of nowhere and are gone just as fast. The effect was probably the same as when you stand beside a rollercoaster when it speeds past you. Saaga's high-pitched scream echoes merely a moment in their ears before the four of them are whisked away.

It would have been funny if they weren’t about to get smashed into wet, meaty splotches to decorate the mountainside. As said, the rock wall is approaching way too quickly to be healthy. Air whooshes upwards and sends Saaga’s hair and cloak whipping wildly around her. A second later they realize the wind is not going up, it's just them going down in a strange angle.

”I think our giant lost the fight,” Fíli says on Saaga's left. He is staring straight forward.

It’s coming. A gigantic wall. Inevitable. Indestructible.

”Yeah, I think so too,” Saaga whispers through her deathly pale lips and gropes towards Fíli with her hand. Bofur has been send stumbling too far away from her to reach him a second time. The tears are blurring her entire view into a grey, melting oil painting and the Finn can only hope Bofur and Glóin can find comfort in each other's company. The wind whistles sharply, bringing the faint yells of their friends along with it from the distance.

” **Mahal, protect my brother.** ”

That’s all Saaga hears before Fíli physically throws his body over her and against the wall, engulfing her head into a wet but firm embrace. Saaga is stuck between cold rock and Fíli’s cold armor and as much as she appreciates the protective gesture, it's just a matter of time now before they are both going to die. Saaga grits her teeth together, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she braces for impact.

They brace for it together. For death. The clutch at each other so tightly it hurts.

The crack is thunderous. It vibrates through all of them like electricity but strangely enough they are not smashed into liquid and dust but merely thrown forward. Well, that isn’t exactly pleasant either but a way better option still. Saaga smacks her face against Fíli’s metallic chest plates, blood flooding in her mouth. Her head spins and it takes a while for her to realize why the earth underneath her is panting just as hard as she is. Next there are two warm hands on the both sides of her spinning head and her vision is full of blue eyes and rows of white teeth.

”We’re alive! We’re-! Oh, hey, you’re bleeding.”

Saaga groans and pushes herself off the dwarf. She rolls off and on her back and blinks up to the sky. It’s still raining.

”’m fine. ’m fine, don’t worry. _Ai helvetti, että teki kipeää, ai saatana_ ,”(2) Saaga gasps and struggles to breath through the shock. She groans again and curls to her side, spitting blood out with a wrinkled nose. It’s not too bad, luckily, she had just nicked the inside of her lip. She probes the wound with her tongue, assessing the damage. Fíli is already raising to sit and finally Saaga gives way to a world weary sigh, following his example gingerly.

She takes a note of the smile on the dwarf's face.

”You look way too pleased for someone who was just forced to try and make deal with the gods to protect his little brother.”

”Just happy the be up and kickin’. Besides, if you’re really blessed like old-man Gandalf says… I thought trying to make one last attempt at an exchange of favors was in order.”

”Sure.”

There’s a bitter taste in Saaga’s mouth. This is what she was worth in this company, apparently. _To be exchanged for favors_.

”It was the last ditch attempt of a dying man to protect his brother, alright? No need to look like you swallowed **orc shit**.”

”Nice to know what I'm worth to you guys,” Saaga snaps back and kind of regrets it immediately when hurt flashes across Fíli’s features. It’s gone the next second though, just as her regret, and rebelliously they both turn to glare into opposite directions. 

It's not a surprise Thorin is the first to burst into view from behind the mountainside. His happy roar at seeing them is followed by many others when they get close enough to see the survivors. Kíli basically slams on Fíli's side, sending them tumbling backwards and then on the ground until Thorin deems it enough and hugs Fíli so tightly the golden haired dwarf's face turns red. Glóin and Óin rest their foreheads together, letting their eyes do all the talking. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur are laughing and hugging and patting each other fondly. It's not until Bilbo appears that Saaga gets to join them.

"I thought you were lost to this world!" The hobbit exclaims as Saaga raises on her knees to accept a tight hug, almost desperate in its strength. 

"Nah, I think I'll stick around just a little bit longer, if that's alright with you."

"More than. More than alright."

Saaga harrumphs at her friend and grimaces as she then stands upright. She is in the middle of letting Bilbo straighten her cloak as a shadow falls over them.

"I thought for a moment that we lost our translator," Dwalin mutters, smiling at her, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. "I think this proves this ain't a place for women-folk."

Something snaps in Saaga's head at that moment.

Maybe it's the pressure, or maybe it's just purely the fact that she had almost died, or maybe it's just that she's had it up to _here_ with these misogynistic remarks. Saaga didn't know and she definitely wasn't in a mood to do any soul-searching to figure it out. She had almost lost her life. In her mind, Saaga could imagine her own body, splattered at the mountainside, all mangled up and limbs out of place, most of her turned into unrecognizable mush.

"You fucking-.. you goddamn idiots! What is wrong with you?!" Saaga yells at Dwalin's surprised face but then turns to also address the rest of the company while rain whips her distressed expression. Bofur manages holds her back as she lunges past Dwalin and towards stoic-faced Thorin. "It doesn't fucking matter if you're a man or a woman! You are all insane! You hear me?! _Insane!_ _Nobody_ in their right mind can survive a journey like this. We are all going to die before we even reach your precious mountain." Bofur's hand on the woman's shoulder only manages to rile her up even worse. "You know who goes on a trip like this?! _Crazy people!_ I can't even _begin_ to describe -"

Saaga can feel it. She gags. Her breakfast and lunch are climbing up her esophagus. As fast as she can, the woman scrambles away from Bofur and on to her knees and promptly proceeds to empty her stomach right there in the middle of the path. She is shaking thoroughly, there are tears in her brown eyes, and her nose is running like there's no tomorrow, and she can hear the men groaning, perhaps from disgust, on the background. Yeah, she wasn't a pretty sight but still Saaga turns her rebelliously burning gaze to meet Thorin's icy one. His thick hair falls limply in curls over his face and rivulets of water slide down his armor.

Saaga spits to get rid of the sickly sweet taste in her mouth. When the northerner finally finds her voice, it's sad, desperate and raspy. "We'll all be lost before this adventure even begins! You're going to get us all killed!"

Something painful pushes through Thorin's stony expression but it vanishes so quickly one would have to wonder if it was there in the first place.

"You and the halfling have been lost ever since you left home! You should have never come, you'll never survive. I told you this and yet you forced your will. You two have no place amongst us. Dwalin, come on!"

Saaga's vision is red with rage as Thorin turns his back to them. If the Finn had had any strength left in her beaten body she would have hurtled the first rock near enough right to the back of their leader's thick head. Instead she spits again, this time in disgust.

"Come on, lass." Bilbo and Bofur help her climb back on her feet. "Time to go."

There was no point in being mad at them, so Saaga does as she is told. Without hesitation she grasps Bilbo's wet hand into her own. The hobbit squeezes right back and determinately they start making their way forward, Saaga first and Bilbo following close behind.

"Just leave it, Saaga," Bilbo whispers loud enough for the words to reach the woman's ears. "Thorin is right."

"Don't you say that. And besides, I don't care," Saaga rasps out, "I don't see why it would be acceptable for him to behave like an idiot but not for me to point it out."

"I at least should have never come past Rivendell. This isn't a place for a hobbit. This isn't a place for us."

"I _don't_ care. Nothing gives him the right to talk to us like that."

The next hour is a quiet affair since nobody is in mood for talking and at least half of the company is sulking anyway. They are all drenched, exhausted and desperate for a break. When Dwalin finally informs them that they have found a cave deep enough to give them all cover, Saaga is ready to weep from joy. Never in her life has the young woman felt as deeply miserable as she does on this wretched mountain.

A quick change into damp clothes and a denied permission to start a fire don't make anyone feel much better.

"Get some sleep. We start at first light."

Saaga _almost_ groans out loud at Thorin's command. "We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan."

"Plans change. Bofur, take the first watch."

"So do opinions. At first I kinda tolerated you but now I can't look at you without imagining my fist connecting with your face," Saaga snaps. 

"I'm terrified," Thorin mutters flatly, ignoring the woman altogether after that.

Well, truth to be told, as much as Saaga wanted to meet with Gandalf she wanted more to get off this mountain as quickly as possible. Gandalf was old and wise so Saaga was pretty sure he could figure out that they have moved on.

When the company has settled down for the night, Saaga's scraped hands are shaking so badly she drops her comb when she tries to tame her wild, wet hair. Oh, what would she be willing do for a mirror and a hair-dryer. She has never gone through a week without showering and now that she didn't have any other choice... Well, to say the least, the experience was the most disgusting thing ever. Their whole company stunk heavily of sweat and dirt, their breath smelled worse, and Saaga's hair drooped limply around her face in yucky, oily strips that she had pulled up in a ponytail. She really, really missed her shower but even more importantly, she missed her sauna. All she wanted to do was go to sauna, sweat all this dirt out of her pores and then wash it all off, pull on a bathrobe and possibly have a cold beer on the balcony. Was that truly too much asked?

Cursing softly in her native language, Saaga's murky eyes turn to roam over her shaking hands. Nails were broken and bend, underlay coated in black matter, her white skin covered in shallow scrapes. Because Saaga's back is turned to the rest of the company she dares to hold her joined, trembling hands next to her chest. Heartbeat was loud and erratic in her upper-body as she focuses on it.

The brunette was reluctant to admit it, even to herself, but Saaga knew it in her heart that she was a real weakling in this group. The woman was not weak by the standards of her own world, not mentally or even physically; in fact, she was most likely stronger than some of the people in her own age-group but in here, the Finn was ready to accept it. Without any battle-skills, Saaga was completely dependent on the protection of the company and if she at some point would be accidentally separated from them... she would die. That's it. Saaga hated the straightforwardness of the idea. It was quite frankly a terrifying realization but the truth, as pointed out by the events of today. Death lurked around every corner and there was no way she would survive on her own.

She would have to hang on tightly until she was reunited with Gandalf and they could start searching for a way to get her home. She had told the wizard everything she could remember from the Lord of the Rings, so hadn't she now filled her purpose? It was time to go home. She wanted to go home. This adventure had been a real step out of her comfort zone and now she was more than ready for it to be over and done with.

"Saaga," the quiet whisper next to her makes the woman's closed eyes snap open. She had totally zoned out. Her gaze meets, surprisingly, Kíli's worried face. Catching Saaga completely out of guard the young dwarf has lowered himself next to her, his decision to ignore the girl momentarily forgotten. What had caused the change, Saaga couldn't tell but she certainly wasn't going to complain about it either. "It's going to be alright, you know? Everyone is okay. You're alright."

"No, Kíli," Saaga whispers just as quietly so that no one but them can hear. Surely they would laugh at her. The thought makes her swallow with difficulties. "I don't think it will be. This whole thing is a disaster. I really, really shouldn't be here."

"Come on now," Fíli is suddenly on her other side, his golden hair, beard and mustache splattered with mud. He looks a little embarrassed but his eyes are sincere. "Everything will look different in the morning. You'll see. Not everyday is this difficult." 

The brothers try to fluff her backpack into a pillow and cover her cold body with a traveling blanket for warmth. They lie down next to her, far enough not to touch her but the heat radiating from their bodies makes Saaga relax slowly. But despite this turn of events, her eyes remain hollow, glued up to the grey ceiling.

"I'm going to die in this strange world, far away from home."

Only Fíli and Kíli hear her softly whispered admission which makes their mouths tighten into small, frigid lines. Kíli is staring at the ceiling, twirling a dark colored stone on his calloused hands, trailing the sigils carved into it. Saaga cannot see what it reads but the stone must act as some kind of a luck charm for she has seen Kíli fiddle with it more than once. Fíli, on the other hand, has closed his eyes but his palm remains wrapped around his sword handle. 

_I'm going to die in this world, aren't I?_

Misery washes over her like deep-ocean current. Not thinking about it any further, Saaga reaches for the dwarves on her both sides and grasps the edges on their blankets, squeezing so hard her knuckles turn white. She squeezes the fabric in her fist and she squeezes her eyes shut, not willing tears to spill. Neither Fíli nor Kíli say anything. They don't try to make her release her death-grip but they don't reach out for her either. 

Finally some time later, Saaga falls into restless and exhausted sleep, slumping against the hard ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Finnish to English:
> 
> (1) Bilbo, varo! - Bilbo, look out!  
> (2) Ai helvetti, että teki kipeää, ai saatana. - Oh hell, that hurt, oh devil (lit. satan).
> 
> *menninkäinen = a small, cute, elf-troll mixture, similar to leprechaun  
> **Helsinki - The capital of Finland in southern part of the country
> 
> Also, I have been made aware that "vanished like a fart into the winds of Sahara" isn't actually an international proverb but a Finnish one. Who would have thought we Finns were this poetic. Well, as you can probably guess it means about the same as "to disappear into thin air".


	5. Nodus Tollens

**Nodus Tollens:** _The realization that the plot of your life doesn't make sense to you anymore._

 

”Wake up. Wake up!”

_I guess he is just as grumpy all around the clock._

Still half asleep Saaga raises her hand to brush dirty hair off her face. With squinted brown eyes - she is pretty sure the other eye is still watching dreams - Saaga looks around them. She pats the sleepy brothers on her both sides.

”Boys, wake up.”

The ground is shaking beneath them, sand flowing into the cracks. Others are already scrambling to their feet, their hands finding their ways to swords and axes. Saaga's stomach drops when she sees the utter panic flashing on their faces.

”Fíli! Kíli! _Wake up!_ ”

It all goes to hell too quickly for anyone to fully grasp the situation. The ground collapses from underneath them and with a terrified shriek Saaga rolls on her stomach, her damaged nails scraping the stony floor and bending backwards but doing nothing to stop the inevitable. She can feel the short free-fall turning the contents of her tummy upside down and had she eaten, the woman was pretty sure any contents of her stomach would have come up and out. Next they are all tumbling uncontrollably downwards, under and over each other while screaming, their desperate hands trying to get a grip of the tunnel to slow them down and failing brilliantly at it. Saaga is pretty sure that at some point she knocks foreheads with Bombur but there's no way to be certain. Thankfully her travel blanket is still wrapped around her and it saves the woman from the worst bumps. Elven made fabrics seemed to be tougher than they appeared on first glance.

There is another short free-fall filled with shocked yelps and then the whole company thuds on solid ground. Groaning in misery Saaga lies sprawled right where she landed, lungs trying to inhale air but coming up short as the wind has been soundly knocked out of her. Thankfully no one had landed _on_  her, she might not have survived that. Bofur, half-buried under Bombur's massive body, groans - apparently not everyone was as lucky but at least they had thicker hides.

Coughing because of the heavy, rotten air around them that was a sharp contrast to the cold mountain wind, Saaga stumbles upright and rips the sad remains of her blanket off. The Finn squints her eyes in the flickering light of lit torches. Her sight absorbs the image of their surroundings and then her heart catches up with her brain, jumping into a irregular rhythm that was faster than wheels of a speeding train.

”Wow,” she manages faintly, her knees buckling at the sight in front of them, ”you’re fugly.”

The creatures surrounding them are like small, starving children with huge yellowish eyes and bad teeth. Their skin is mattered with moles and wrinkles, faces scrunched up with insane expressions. As if they had been waiting for a cue, Saaga's words launch them into an excited attack. Grappling, eager hands find them from the front, sides and behind as the company tries to fight them off with their swinging fists and hard kicks.

"What in the name of Mahal-?!"

"Kíli, behind yo-! Dammit, lad, be careful!"

"Fight them! Fight them off!"

 _What do you mean 'fight them'?! You mean you want me to literally punch_ s _omething?!_

Never in her life has Saaga physically fought against anything. However, now that it truly matters, when it is a situation of life and death, when those bony fingers stretch towards her, the northerner finds herself fighting madly against their captors. She yelps, kicks, and breaks the nose of one unfortunate creature with the back of her head when it tries to lock it's arms around her from behind, though its more of an accident than an actual fight move. The company's feverish struggle is like from some nameless action movie but fought with far less grace and unlike in the movies, they were not meant to win this fight.

It's only when Saaga tries to actually punch one of the small bastards that her thoughts come into a stuttering halt, her hit being received as a powerless slap. The contact stings and burns on the skin of her knuckles. The goblin is grinning and cocking its head curiously.

"Use your elbow!" Nori growls, sprinting past Saaga with an agility of a wild-cat, dagger sinking into the throat of a goblin. It's smile falls along with it's body. "If you don't have power, then use your bones! If your fists are soft, then use naturally hard points of your body!"

 _Fuckity-fucking-fuck,_ is the only remotely intelligent thought in Saaga's head as she acts by reflex, swinging her elbow into waiting face of a child-monster approaching from their left. There's a crunch and now her cape is stained red.

_Oh. It worked._

"Thank you!"

"No problem, dollface!"

_Dollfa-?! Seriously?_

The ugly creatures are not exactly strong or good fighters but they overpower them easily with their sheer numbers. Eventually axes are ripped from their hands and knives pulled from their waists as easily as if they were taking candies from children.

The company is pushed, shoved, half-marched and half-carried forward through vast, gloomy tunnels and over wooden bridges that leave Saaga's mouth hanging wide open and then stumbling because she wasn't looking ahead of herself. The company was surrounded by grey, uneven walls of stone, pitch-black corners, and a gaping pit that opened up right on the other side of the railing. All the while they walked those small, disgusting hands were touching, groping and tapping against them as the goblins sneered, yowled and hissed at them.

It was purely out of instinct that Saaga too continues to fight against them, disgusted and panicking, before one of the pale monsters punches her square into jaw. Saaga never sees it coming. Suddenly her vision explodes into red hues and pain makes her head swim. For the rest of their journey Saaga sees stars and tries hard not to drown in her own blood that floods into her mouth. Her head rolls uselessly from one side to the other. Somebody is yelling her name but it only makes the ringing in her ears worse.

When the pain slowly subsides to more manageable level, they have reached their destination. Saaga is none too kindly shoved next to the dwarves and gratefully the woman finds her way into middle of the whole group, finding balance from their strong arms. Bombur and Balin seem to agree with her idea of being in the middle and urge her forward. Bofur on her right plants his warm hat on Saaga’s head, forcefully pushing her into crouching position for she is still few centimeters taller than the rest of them. Bifur and Thorin send them a quick, approving nod from over their shoulders before turning to face their enemies. Then they spin around again to take a double look at the female. Saaga shrugs and the dwarves share a glance.

”Stay low, lass. Can’t have goblins finding you,” Bofur mutters when Bifur and Thorin finally concentrate on whats going on in the front. The miner's concerned eyes fly over the woman’s face and stop on her jaw which had no doubt already bruised. Saaga, seeing Bofur gritting his teeth, shakes her head under his hat that sits so deep that it covers her eyebrows. She smacks her mouth thoughtfully, grimacing at the irony taste. Her jaw aches with every small movement. She had never been punched in the face before but on the bright side, that could now be removed from her bucket list. Annoyingly enough the wound on her inner lip from yesterday had opened up again, going by the stinging on her lower lip that refused to die down.

_Goblins, huh? Figures. It is that kind of a week._

”Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?”

Saaga cannot see the speaker as she is trying to stay hidden but she can tell that it's  _big_. The voice comes from somewhere above them and it makes the dwarves press closer to each other, almost squishing the woman between them and their pokey armors. With a gritted teeth Saaga endures it, sourly thinking that this was probably as close as she was ever going to get to the dwarves. 

”Dwarves, Your Malevolence,” another creaky voice answers.

”Dwarves?”

”We found them on the front porch.”

”Well, don’t just stand there; search them! Every crack, every crevice.”

Those slimy hands eagerly reach for the company members again, searching their shoulders and waists and checking the sides of their boots for weapons or anything valuable. Oín has his trumpet taken away just so that the goblins can pound it into a disfigured glump of metal and they are still pulling small knives out of Nori's hair.

First goblin that reaches the woman snatches Saaga's home keys from around her neck with a sharp _snap_ and runs off, apparently satisfied with it's new treasure. Saaga half-heartedly shouts after it before she is forced to deal with another cocky bastard. The goblin's repulsive, bony, child-like hands are on Saaga’s upper-body and groping her breasts before the northerner manages to do anything about it.

Bad choice of a bra today. She definitely should have worn the linen.

Murky-brown eyes meet with surprised yellow ones before Bofur directs an unforgiving punch on the side of the goblin's head. The pale creature shrieks in pain, convulsing on to floor with it's arms protectively curled over it's face. Unfortunately Bofur is just a second too late as the other goblins have made notice of the protective dwarf and his much more softer looking protégée.

"Ooh, female-flesh. Haven't had tha' in a while."

”This one is a female!”

”No,” Saaga fearfully breaths out, horrified eyes meeting Bofur’s dark ones.

"Lady Saaga! Hold on-"

"Shut up, dwarf-scum!" One of the goblins snarls and snaps it teeth at the miner. Bofur is shoved so roughly he falls stumbling down. Before Saaga can do anything but internally panic, she is trapped between two large goblins and shoved towards the front of the group.

”No, no, no, no…”, the Finn whispers as her resisting heels drag crisscrossing lines in the sand. 

Surprisingly enough it's Dori who makes a desperate grasp for her, only to be thrown back against his other siblings, accompanied by a low, angry grunt. Just for a moment Saaga's fingertips had grazed against his, so close to safety and yet so far, leaving her sobbing out Dori's name as she is dragged onwards. The white-haired dwarf snarls and punches the nearest goblin so hard it twirls on the ground in spinning circles. Everyone could hear the crack of it's spine as the punch hit and threw it's head sideways. It's still not enough to save Saaga though.

The whole cavern is filled with excited, loud shrieks of the gleeful goblins, and angry shouts and curses of the dwarves. While their attempts at helping Saaga are furious, they are just as futile. The female is gripped painfully tightly from under her arms and _lifted_ in front of the goblin king as if she weights nothing to them. One of the ugly bastards even has the nerve to kick Saaga behind her knee, sending the woman on the floor knees first. They grab her arms and bend them backwards, one hand on Saaga's wrist and other on her shoulder, pushing her down. She yelps more from the surprise that actual pain.

"Don't hurt her!"

"Stop! I said _stop it_!"

All Saaga could feel was her confusion and anger, fueled by fear and pain on her bruised knees and bend arms. She couldn't hear her companions' voices clearly enough to decide who was yelling but she was grateful that they even bothered to try. Goblins really did seem to enjoy daunting the dwarves with the fact that they had managed to find the weakest loop of the group and then steal her away from them. To them, there was nothing better than seeing their enemies flush with anger and see their fists clench in frustration. 

All the remaining strength that she had leaves her as Saaga actually raises her eyes to meet the face of the ruler of Goblin Town. If the woman had thought the goblins before to be ugly, she had been wrong. Their king totally took the cake with it’s protruding eyes and wobbling fat, and the woman's fear surges forward in a rush. It was as if her spine had turned into steel and the Finn herself was just a piece of meat hanging from it, completely unable to move, eyes so wide they watered a little.

_Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! This can't be real. Please, let this be a awful dream. Time to wake-the-fuck-up, Saaga!_

”Well, well, well,” the king breaths out excitedly, lowering his abhorrent head in front of hers. Reflexively Saaga jolts backwards but she can only bend her head so far because of the goblins holding her in place. Instantly her neck starts to ache and her heels dig into the ground as she tries to powerlessly push herself backwards. Their noses are barely twenty centimeters apart and the stench of the king’s breath makes Saaga gag, turn her face away and breath slowly through her mouth.

Yeah, that was definitely not dream-material. 

”What do we have here? The common whore?” The goblin king laughs at his own words, throwing his head back and holding his jiggling stomach. Saaga doesn't even care, just being glad that his face was now further away. Following his example, the rest of the cavern is thrown into gleeful fit by the king's words, their snickers and cackles bouncing loudly on the walls. Saaga breaths heavily as if she had just run a mile or had a panic-attack. She certainly felt close to having one.

So what now? They beat her up? They snap her bones and then her neck? They rape her? Both? Which one would come first? 

What if they would force the dwarves to  _watch?_

When the monsters finally calm and quiet down, Saaga finds herself eye to eye with the king. The woman stares at him with wide eyes, lips in a thin, wobbling line, wondering if she was close enough to kick the goblin in the eyeball. She decides against it in the end. Now Saaga could fight, alright. She had pride. She just wasn't ready to die because of it. Plus, she was scared enough to almost pass out.

”What are you doing in these parts? Speak!”

Saaga presses her cracked lips even more tightly shut, continuing to glare up at the huge goblin from under the hat. Even as the hold on her is strengthened painfully, her arms being bend until they are ready to snap from the joints, the woman manages to wheeze out any voices, her chest heaving and sweat glimmering on her forehead. Everyone behind her back stays silent like the dead but she can hear the dwarves shuffling nervously on their feet.

_Don't tell him anything. Don't say anything. If they don't kill you, the dwarves will kill you afterwards if you dare to reveal anything._

”Well then,” the king spits at her, making Saaga flinch at the tone of his voice, ”if you will not talk, we’ll make you squawk! Bring out the Mangler! Bring out the Bone Breaker!”

_...huh? Bring the what?_

It was madness.

Her whole life Saaga had thought that someday she would probably eat something entirely unfit for humans and die of a food poisoning or get crushed under a car while crossing road. Much more likely, that. But no, out of events that she has had no control over she was now here in Goblin Town, about to be torn apart limb by limb while the dwarves - most of them who did not even think kindly of her - were to watch. It was unfair. It was so unfair! 

_To hell with this world! Fuck them! Fuck everyone on this goddamn piece of a shit planet!_

Saaga snarls and wriggles fruitlessly against her guards, her feet kicking in the air, eyes glowing with fury and rage capable of burning down forests. Her heartbeat had turned into a war-drum, beating strongly in her throat and against her ribcage. Now she truly regretted not delivering that kick moments earlier right into the Great Goblin's eyeball. And that pile of shit of a king has the nerve to laugh at her.

_FUCK THIS BULLSHIT!_

”I came into the world screamingand covered in someone else’s blood,” Saaga screams to it's face, threat rolling off her bloody tongue like venom, effectively shutting up the large goblin. The surprised back step the ugly king takes acts as oil being throwed into a bonfire, ”and let me tell you, I’m not afraid to leave it the same way! You hear me you  _saatanan paskiaiset!_ Vitun kusipäät, suksikaa vittuun! Odottakaas kunhan saan teidät kääsiini, väännän teiltä pään perseeseen, kuulitteko?!”(1)

Saaga knows she probably looks ridiculous in her loose travel clothes and with Bofur’s giant hat: a small woman held on her knees, kicking and screaming useless threats up to the massive goblin in a language he didn't even understand. But what else was Saaga to do? The woman was a proper northerner, damn it, and if they were all going to die then she might as well go down swinging. Or as it seemed to be in this case, screaming. She'd take what she could get.

The dwarves behind Saaga actually burst into loud cheer as if this was some kind of sports tournament but at least someone appreciated her efforts; it was kinda nice. The Finn can't really make sense of their words but she can hear the dwarves join her in her taunting, Kíli being the loudest and yelling something entirely improper to print on paper.

"Senkin kusipäät!" Saaga continues, feeling encouraged. "Toivon, että se päivä tulee ku nämä tyypit vetää teitä turpaan niin että saatte kaivaa hampaat kurkusta! Teidän äidit ei tule tunnistaan teitä ja itkee kun näkee teidät päivänvalos-"(2)

It's not like she wants to shut up. It's really not about that. It's just that it's a little difficult to continue raging when there's a huge hand curled over half of her face, blocking every airways she has and bodily lifting her in the air. Saaga's screaming turns into a mumble and her face turns red, blood rushing to her features and whole body spasming against the goblin's hold. It's not until the dwarves' yelling turns into panicked screams of _stop its_ and  _don't kill hers_ and into dangerously desperate kind of struggling, that the Goblin King releases it's suffocating hold.

Saaga slumps down against the laughing goblins, feeling like a puppet that had it's string abruptly cut off. Her head hangs, legs sprawled lifelessly on the floor, chest heaving and breath wheezing. The woman coughs, feeling too faint to even care as blood stained spit dribbles down the side of her chin.

The dwarves can tell the female has hurt the king’s pride with her desperate, stupidly heroic defiance, going by the way the goblin looks around the cavern, growling like a overgrown dog searching for an approaching attack. He hadn't needed to understand the meaning behind the woman's words since the intent had been received loud and clear. The fact remained however, that he had been the king of the Goblin Town for centuries and nothing could truly shake the foundations of his confidence. Slowly a terrible smile stretches on it's ugly face and it smacks it's lips hungrily, eyes glowing and narrowing down at the small form of the female.

”Alright then, woman,” the king finally coos at her, enjoying the shiver that shook through her. ”Let’s see if your company agrees with you. You’ll get the front seat of this show! Where is that Bone Breaker?! We’ll start with the youngest.”

To Saaga's terror the king is pointing over her shoulder at Ori, who squeaks in surprise and takes a quick step backwards. He had probably made his way forward in the ranks when the goblins had tried to effectively squeeze the life out of Saaga. The next second Nori and Dori are pushing their youngest brother back behind their wide shoulders, growling at anyone who dared to approach them. They were not going to give easily in this fight. There's a sudden clarity in Saaga's head; of course Dori had tried to protect her earlier. She must have reminded him of Ori.

Finally Thorin himself is pushing his way through the group and stepping into the light as if he was entering a performance stage. How dramatic. Apparently _now_  was a good time to intervene. 

”Wait.”

Saaga can only marvel at the calm sound of his voice. Inside she was already falling apart, her passing fury, struggle for breath, and panic leaving her light-headed. Embarrassedly her legs are still quivering and the goblins holding her had to get a better grip just to keep her somewhat upright.

The goblin king, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. If the thing's eyes would have bulged just a millimeter more they would have probably rolled out of it's skull.

”Well, well, well, look who it is. Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror; King under the Mountain.”

Exaggeratedly the Great Goblin bows down in front of Thorin and the whole mountain shakes with the laughter of his subordinates. Now that their king was getting mocked, Fíli and Kíli also took a threatening step forward, and Balin's and Dwalin's hands were curling over empty air as if trying to find their axe handles. Bofur's and Bifur's black eyes were locked at Saaga's crumbled form between the goblins. Bofur was chewing on his lower-lip and tugging at the ends of his braids.

”Oh, but I’m forgetting  _you don’t have a mountain_. And you’re not a king. Which makes you nobody, really. I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached,” the goblin king cackles. He looked so very annoyingly confident. ”Perhaps you know of whom I speak, an old enemy of yours. A Pale Orc astride a White Warg.”

Thorin’s entire form tenses as he looks at the goblin king in disbelief, his head cocking and steely eyes narrowing. Saaga on the other hand can only stare at the kings in confusion, not seeing the other dwarves' stony expressions behind her back. Most of Saaga's attention was directed towards her uncomfortable position anyways. It was kinda hard to ignore when her blood circulation was cut off from her arms and when her legs felt like they were made of rubber.

”Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in a battle long ago.”

”So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” The goblin challenges. ”Send word to the Pale Orc; tell him I have found his prize,” he commands a small, deformed goblin in a basket. The tiny creature scribbles something down and cackles, sliding out of their sight by ropes leading deep into the mountain.

”Now then”, the king sneers, ”start the mangling with the youngest. Make sure the woman is watching; cut off her eyelids if you must!”

_Oh Houston, I have so many problems._

”Wait,” Thorin commands once again, his face grave but they can pretty much taste the urgency in his words. ”Let the rest of them go. I am the wanted one and the prize on my head will be the highest. The rest of them are just a nuisance.”

Saaga can barely believe what she is witnessing: _a king_ bargaining his own life for the rest of the company. Now Thorin might be rude as hell but he had balls of steel, dammit. Then _the King under the Mountain_ \- because that is what Thorin is inevitably turning into in Saaga’s eyes - turns towards her and shoves the goblins holding her aside. The goblin king does nothing to stop them, only regarding them with wry amusement. It was clear he wasn't expecting them to get very far no matter what they did.

”Get off of her!” Thorin growls and the goblins go flying in different directions by his mighty push. Saaga’s arms are aching badly, so she cradles them protectively against her chest when the solemn dwarf helps her up on her feet. Briefly their eyes meet, hands coming up to grip desperately at each other’s shoulders and their heavy breaths mingle in their closeness. Thorin's blue eyes roam over her face and at the blood dripping down from the corner of her mouth. Just for a moment his eyes are soft blue.

Sure, Thorin stank of sweat, earth and wet fur - so completely foreign - but he  _felt_ like safety. He was a total asshole but he was on Saaga's side. At least for now. As proclaimed earlier, she would take what she could get.

”Thorin, _no._ I know I said I was afraid of you getting us all killed but we are in this mess  _together_ ,” Saaga whispers, still gasping for breath while shaking her head. She ignores the way Thorin's grip on her shoulder tightens. Claiming this was a bad idea was the understatement of the year. "Goddammit, Thorin. Self-sacrifice doesn't fix anything."

"Shut your bruised mouth and do as I say."

With an exasperated huff Thorin shoves the woman back to the other dwarves who move without a word to stand around her like living shields, their hands brushing against her; not intrusively like the goblins but comradely, as if they were checking if the Finn was truly still in one piece.

For once, Saaga felt like they cared.

Fíli and Kíli graze their fingertips against her palm. Their eyes shine with anger, one pair ice cold and one pair burning hot. Kíli is sporting a black eye and Fíli has a shallow wound on his forehead. Some of the golden hair is stained red at his temple, turning it to bronze, but the wound itself didn't seem to be bleeding too badly anymore. Ori breaths out a sigh of relief at the sight of her. His scarf has been ripped to pieces and there is a rapidly blackening bruise on the left side of his head. Dori's lower lip looks dangerously close to wobbling as Saaga offers him a shaky smile, mouthing a quiet thank you for the attempt at saving her earlier. Dori just shakes his head and turns his gaze downwards. His knuckles are clenched white. Balin is the last one to pat Saaga's arm and then squeezes it comfortingly but it does nothing to stop her heart from racing, gaze snapping from Balin towards Thorin again. Saaga does, however, accept to take a desperate hold on Balin's offered sleeve.

Nori shuffles his way forward, taking a stand on Saaga's left side.

"You alright, dollface?"

Saaga nods. Her trembling hand raises, taking a hold of Nori's sleeve as well, making his brown eyes snap towards her momentarily but he doesn't resist. Maybe the thief knew that if he was to reject their newest member she would crumble on the spot. Mentally or physically, he couldn't quite decide. The moment the female sways on her feet, Nori's large hand presses gently against her lower back in support, and Saaga can hear him clearing his throat.

”I am the one worth keeping! So keep me and release the others," Thorin is roaring defiantly at the large, looming figure.

It starts as a giggle. The fat of the goblin king wobbles as his snickers are turned into howling laughter, making him gasp for air and to slam his big hand on his thigh repeatedly. The whole Goblin Town joins in to laugh with their master.

”Well, this has been very _touching_ and so, so  _amusing_ ,” he mocks Thorin, ”but you are not in a position to bargain. You have nothing to bargain _with_! You’re _all_ my prisoners and this mountain shall be your grave.”

The company members can only listen incredulously as the goblin king bursts out singing.

 _”Bones will be shattered,_  
_necks will be wrung!_  
_You’ll be beaten and battered,_  
_from racks you’ll be hung._  
_You will lie down here and never be found,_  
_down in the deep of Goblin-town.”_

Unexpectedly there is a loud clatter of metal as Thorin’s sword - Orcrist - is thrown into the sight of goblins. Horrified gasps and shrieks of rage fill the hall and even the goblin king tries to scramble backwards on his throne, trampling all over the small goblins at his feet. Clearly he does not hold his subservients in value. The sound of pained squeaks and breaking bones make the company members' expressions tighten and for Saaga to turn her head away and close her eyes, expression bordering on nauseous. Balin's hand covers her trembling palm at his sleeve.

”I know that sword! It is the Goblin Cleaver - the Biter - the blade that sliced a thousand necks!” 

Growling with their teeth out, goblins around them start whipping their group with ropes and sticks, herding them even closer together. Saaga shrieks as one of the ropes painfully whips her thigh. She covers while raising her arms instinctively to protect her head and face. The others are doing the same thing, Kíli and Fíli managing to make themselves look like fools as they both try to shield each other from the hits.

”Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all! Cut off his head!”

”Thorin!”

Dwalin's shout is drowned amongst others as Thorin is held down by two heavily muscled goblins, one of them preparing to slice his neck. He was held too far from the rest of them. The goblin’s hand raises slowly. Saaga's heart stops at the realization; they wouldn't be able to reach him in time.

_So. This is how we die. Thanks for nothing, Tolkien._

It isn’t.

In the next instance they are all blinded by a bright light and thrown backwards by a shockwave that leaves their ears ringing. If this were a cartoon there would be tiny birds chirping and flying around their heads right now. The air is knocked out of Saaga _again_ when Nori’s - true to his word - sharp elbow lands on her stomach and the back of her head smacks painfully against Dwalin’s chest-armor. The Finn's head would have probably cracked open like an egg weren't it for Bofur’s hat.

They all raise slowly: dwarves, humans and goblins alike, staring at Gandalf with the same level of awe humans would have had for the second coming of Jesus Christ. Gandalf's sword is gleaming in the light of his staff and shining upon his relieved face. Then he turns into the wise wizard again.

”Take up arms. Fight,” he says and raises his voice into a clear command when no one acts. ”Fight!”

What follows is a hurried scramble for weapons. Saaga manages to grab two knives from the pile; her own that she hastily secures on her waist and that leaves the other one to be wielded. The goblin king is bellowing something about Gandalf’s sword but they have no time to listen as they pass the swords and axes along to each other. Saaga turns her brown eyes just in time to see Thorin protecting Nori from the giant goblin, pushing it over the platform and into the depths below. No sympathy goes with him, obviously.

”Follow me. Quick! Run!”

The dwarves dash to comply and whack down goblins with such ferocity that it leaves Saaga gaping and full of respect. Kíli is suddenly there by her side, shooting down goblins like it’s child’s play, like he has done this his whole life. With a shudder Saaga realizes that maybe he has. 

Clearly it was payback time. Kíli's smile was all teeth.

”Time to go, you crazy woman!” Kíli smirks as another arrow hits it's mark in the centre of a goblin's forehead.

”Crazy is relative,” Saaga snaps back, her voice coming out as a snarl because of the new shot of adrenaline pumping through her veins. When she turns, ready to follow after the archer, one unfortunate goblin lands on her path.

There was a time and place very far away and quite long time ago when Saaga had been close to punching someone. Everyone probably had at least one moment like that in their lives, like after a bar night on the line to the grill. Everyone had gotten into a fight on that line, it was like a curse of a drunken nightly snack. Or perhaps it was just a Finnish thing.

And then there was that sad little fumble earlier but that didn't count.

This time... this was different.

Within a split-second her decision is made and her fist swings, finally being able to properly heave momentum from her upper-body. It connects with the goblin's cheek with enough force to make it stumble backwards and flip over the railing.

There is a peaceful, calm second where Saaga just exhales, taking in what just happened. However, just because she succeeded didn't mean that it didn't hurt. The woman would be unable do any embroidery for weeks after this - not that she minded. Saaga had never been too fond of crafts.

With a pained expression Saaga shakes her hands in the air, gasping because of the blindingly white pain in her knuckles.

"Holy shit," she muttered under her breath. "Can't believe I just did that."

”Come on!” This time it is Dwalin urging her onwards, pushing the female on the move. His grin is wide and ferocious as the human stumbles to follow his order. "Yer a special kind of crazy, woman. Ya keep that spirit up and you might just survive this!"

Saaga offers him a cracked smile while still shaking her hand in the air, hobbling onwards as fast as she could. After that they dash through what feels like a million tunnels and over just about as many bridges, desperately trying not to trip or trip over their own feet. Getting behind meant being left behind. Stopping just wasn't an option.

_You better know where you’re going, Gandalf. There's no turning back._

”Quickly!”

”Faster!”

There must have been thousands of them. Goblins were swarming all over the mountain walls, running behind them and throwing rocks and shooting arrows on their path. It felt like they were trapped in a very angry wasp nest. Surviving such odds seemed impossible and Saaga felt the bottom of her stomach sink, but come what may, dwarves were even more impossible. That is something Saaga was forced to realize when Dwalin cuts down _a motherfucking guardrail post_ and swings it towards the approaching enemies. And apparently, because this is _a completely natural thing to do_ , other dwarves help him hold it up. 

”Charge!”

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

But their insane plan works and a goblin after another is shoved flying off the track. Breathless by the sight, Saaga follows their steps, knife tightly gripped in her sweaty, shaking palm. Her friends were fierce fighters, so she needed to grow into one as well. She’d be fast and furious and her knife shall bring terror into hearts of her enemi-…

”Oh,” Saaga gasps as her knife sinks into chest of a goblin.

That was an accident. She didn’t mean to do it. Hell, the northerner had never killed anything in her life, not even an animal. That is, if you didn't count the goblin she had punched over the railing earlier but that had been self-defence; it hadn't felt like _murder_. 

”Anteeksi,”(3) Saaga whispers as she watches the lights die in the goblin’s yellow eyes. Terrified, she lets go of the weapon and the goblin falls down, hits the path, and falls into darkness with her knife still sticking out of it’s upper-body. The woman has no time to mourn nor for the goblin or her knife as she is snapped out of her daze by Kíli.

”Saaga, help!”

Somehow the dwarf has managed to land a ladder on top of the goblins on their track. Kíli, Fíli and few other are pushing it forward when Saaga joins them. Together, screaming and shouting something resembling a garbled war-cry, they go and push more ugly creatures off their way. Apparently ladders make good, sturdy and expandable bridges as well. Leave it to the dwarves to come up with something brilliant like that in a heat of a moment.

"How are you holding up?" Fíli asks as he crosses his swords around a goblin's throat and slices it clean off, sending the whole thing flying.

"Can't complain," Saaga chokes out, "I've tried but nobody listens."

It makes her feel instantly better as Fíli barks out an breathless laughter.

Unfortunately, their escape is suddenly cut off by sudden appearance of a cliff. They are at the end of a platform, Gandalf leading and staring down into the depths of the dark mountain. Twirling around Saaga manages to meet the determined blue eyes of Thorin who had been the last of the group. He raises his sword.

”Oh, you can't be serious," Saaga whispers, narrowing her eyes. Thorin narrows his right back at her.

Their pathway separates from the mountainside, flinging through the air when Thorin cuts off the ropes holding it together. Without a word Bofur makes a grab for her, circles his arms around her waist and _jumps_.

_FUCK!_

Saaga screams pathetically as they fly through the air and suddenly they are safely on the other side. Heavily they land upon the wooden bridge and roll away from the edge, Balin and Óin following close behind. Miraculously Bofur’s hat is stuck on her head like it’s glued there, and Saaga scrambles forwards on all-fours before Bofur grasps a hold from the scruff of her neck and hauls the woman on her feet. The rest of the company follows with the next round of that giant swing they have created and then they have to break into a run again.

Saaga is forced to take up her last knife and she proceeds to swing it madly around at anything that resembles a goblin. The Finn kicks and swings her elbows and uses the blunt end on her weapon to knock some of them out, prepared but reluctant to use the sharp edge again. She wasn't a killer by nature but she could at least pretend to be dangerous in order to keep the creatures away.

The company comes to a halt as the goblin king himself suddenly bursts through their wooden pathway, sending timber flying, and eyeing Gandalf with glee and clear murderous intent. The gigantic goblin just didn't seem know when to quit.

”You thought you could escape _me_?” It swings it’s massive mace, making the old man stumble backwards. ”What are you gonna do now, wizard?”

With speed such an ancient man should not have, Gandalf leaps forward and strikes the ugly king right in the eye with his staff. Shrieking and gurgling in sudden pain the goblin drops it’s mace in order to wrap his hands protectively over it’s face.

_Swift as a coursing river, he is!_

”Ow, ow, ow…” The goblin howls and then the Grey Wizard slices open it’s fat belly with Glamdring. As if honoring his sword, he then continues with the next strike that slices open the goblin king’s throat. They all want to cheer as the ugly bastard falls down but they cannot. There's simply no time for such festive moves. The bridge under their feet is shaking, groaning and tearing itself apart under the fallen king’s weight.

There is no time for last words or goodbyes. No grand finale. As their footing disappears, Saaga grabs both Fíli and his brother for balance and then they are all flying and sliding downwards with the speed of a bullet. They must be a hilarious sight, all three of them grabbling desperately at each other, screaming and staring ahead with wide eyes. What a nice bonding moment for them. That’s of course until Bofur’s hat falls on Saaga's face and covers her field of vision and muffles her cries.

Now that was beyond hilarious. Another A+ for comedy.

Finally their speed slows into a jerky stop and the bridge crumbles. The remains of the said bridge then proceed to rain down on them and bury the company alive; it is not the goblins that almost kill them in the end, it's  _the bloody bridge_. Gandalf is first one to find his footing and push planks off of himself, emerging from the disaster unhurt but dusty. The wizard moves to inspect the rest of the group, still stuck in the rubble. He sneezes.

”Well, that could have been worse!” Bofur decides to inform them and then, of course, because the world is a cruel place, the body of the Great Goblin lands on top of the wreckage, squishing them even further. A soft  _oof!_ escapes from Saaga as the air gets punched out of her windpipe.

”You’ve got to be joking!”

"No friggin' way!"

Saaga has managed to get herself into a tight spot. Literally. She is squished over Kíli who is underneath her, moaning painfully with Saaga sprawled over his back. On top of her there is Fíli, who is hastily trying to wiggle his way off of the woman. Now you must understand Saaga is a bit hysterical at this point, head spinning with the heady feeling of still being alive.

”We are a human-dwarf sandwich,” she finds herself blurting out loud and then roaring with hysterical laughter, almost inhaling Kíli’s dark strands of hair up her nose.

”You have lost your mind,” Fíli fondly points out to Saaga, finally managing to fall off her and his brother. It is in no way graceful. He looked more like a turtle wriggling desperately on it's back trying to find it's footing than a young dwarf warrior and it just made Saaga laugh harder.

Finally they all manage to scramble up on their wobbly feet and without nobody having to ask for it, they turn to help dig others out.

”I can’t believe we survived that! It's a miracle!”

"Careful with my back, careful, careful, agh-!"

"Where's my trumpet?"

Some of the dwarves are buried so deep that it takes them a while to get them out of the wreckage. Saaga is sweaty, dusty and covered in bruises and slashes, her hands full of splinters by the end of it. But she forgets the bruises almost immediately after she gets a few friendly pats on her back. It was the best reward she could have gotten from any of them. 

Kíli, with his sharp young eyes, is first to notice the approaching danger of hundreds of goblins. He takes a step back, color draining from his already pale face.

”Gandalf!”

”There’s too many! We can’t fight them!” Dwalin’s desperate yell strikes fear into their hearts. The company was still deep in the mountain with not much to fight with and nowhere to hide. If Dwalin - the warrior - was scared, then everyone else had a reason to be as well.

”Only one thing will save us: daylight! Come on! Here, on your feet!”

Another mad scramble for freedom follows as they sprint after Gandalf’s fluttery grey cape. There was a tunnel after another, desperate dodges of great rocks in the darkness and sounds of huffing breathes and angry goblin screams filling the air. Never in her life will Saaga forget what it feels like to finally see light at the end of the tunnel.

The company bursts out of the Grey Mountains with the force of a opened dam. Saaga wants to scream and laugh madly and she would have, had she not been so busy stumbling downhill for her dear life. The cool, fresh wind feels amazing blowing through her hair and under the heavy hat, and if she had had any time for it, Saaga would have closed her eyes blissfully.

”Five, six, seven, eight… Bifur, Bofur… that’s ten… Fíli, Kíli, Saaga… that’s thirteen… and Bombur - that makes fourteen. Who is missing?”

They all stop, finding support from the nearby trees as they struggle to find their breath. Coincidentally the northern woman's eyes fix on Bofur, who is leaning on his knees and looking strangely exposed without his hat. It was as if he was naked in the wilderness and that wasn't good for anyone.

”Oh, Bofur,” Saaga breaths out as she stumbles to him with weary legs, arranging the hat back on the short man’s head with all the care in the world. The woman settles both of her dirt-smudged hands on the dwarf’s red cheeks and they share a dimpled smile. Screw Thorin and everyone else for not approving her of making friends. Saaga was way beyond the point of caring.

”You wonderful miracle-maker,” she shakes Bofur’s laughing face between her hands for good measure, ”that silly hat of yours _saved my life_! Almost cracked my head open on Dwalin’s pectorals. Hard as stone those things are!”

Dwalin shrugs and shares somewhat amused looks with Thorin, who is shaking his head but unbelievably smiling. It's not much, just a tiny quirk of his mouth, but it's more than usually. Thorin looks more than relieved. Seriously, Saaga was almost ready to write the smile off as a mass hallucination, so rare it was to see the solemn dwarf look anything but disapproving.

Smiling, Saaga turns to look at the brothers who answer her huge grin with sheepish smirks.

”And you two _nitwits_!”

She engulfs both Kíli and Fíli into a bone-crushing hug, burrowing her face into their smelly hair. Their rough, large hands settle surprisingly gently on her back while they shrug at the others in the company. Kíli was grinning widely and Fíli looked a bit awkward but succumbed to the treatment.

”Where’s Bilbo? Where is our hobbit? _Where is our hobbit?!_ ”

Gandalf’s worried voice forces them shake off the relief of being alive. Startled by the sudden question, they all look around trying to spot the small burglar amongst them. Heavy feeling of guilt settles in Saaga's stomach when she realizes no one has an answer to offer for Gandalf's question. Saaga and Bilbo were supposed to be outcasts together but instead, she and everyone else had completely forgotten about the small Hobbit in their haste to survive.

”Curse the halfling! Now he’s lost?!” Dwalin’s irritated voice is understandable considering the circumstances. For a moment they all had thought they had executed a perfect escape.

”I thought he was with Dori!”

”Don’t blame me! It was a every man to themselves-situation.”

”Well, where did you last see him? Did anyone see him?”

”I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us,” Nori confesses quietly and they all turn to look at him in disbelief and confusion. Nori sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Saaga, on the other hand, is gaping. Had Bilbo truly _abandoned_ them when things got ruff?

”What happened exactly? Tell me!”

Saaga swallows thickly and glances at fuming Thorin from under her eyebrows. Maybe - just maybe - the dwarf-king has finally accepted that he couldn't do anything about her being part of the company, but that didn't make him glad about being right about the hobbit.

_Shit, Bilbo, where the fuck did you disappear?_

”I’ll tell you what happened,” Thorin growls. ”Master Baggins saw his chance and took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since he stepped out of his door."

Saaga crosses her arms and casts her eyes downwards, biting her blood-smeared lower lip. Being abandoned didn't feel good for anyone and it left a hollow wound gaping in the middle of her chest. Disappointment hurt. The rest of the company seemed to agree, giving the looks they are shooting at one another. Hell, she had managed to cling along through blood and fire and Bilbo had just  _left_ without saying a word? What the hell?

"We will not be seeing the hobbit again. He is long gone!"

"And you find this surprising, do you?" Saaga snaps suddenly, her patience towards Thorin's character stretched paper-thin. Anxiety and fear for her friend makes Saaga's heart squeeze painfully within her chest. It was true: the saddest part of betrayal was that it never came from the enemies. And that is why it stung so badly. There was only one thing to be done now; to deal with the aftermath, a.k.a scream at the person who most likely caused it.

"After how you treated him, you find this truly surprising?"

"I have treated him with the respect he has brought on himself."

"Oh,  _suksi vittuun,_ Thorin!"(4) Saaga spits.

"Now, I don't know what language that is," Dwalin drawls, "but I don't think that needs translating."

Kíli is shuffling nervously on his feet while his brother's mouth has formed a small o-shape from which a long, quiet exhale escapes from. Fíli's eyes trail towards the ground as if expecting a hit that is inevitably to follow, but that is something he does not wish to witness. Saaga could guess who he expected to be the one to deliver the blow and to whom.

Despite the wordless warning Saaga continues. "So your mentality is that everyone is to be treated like dirt until they have proven to be worthy of something else? You do realize that the correct way is to treat everyone equally _until_  there is a reason _not_  to. What on earth has Bilbo ever done to you? What did  _I_ ever do to you, come to that?"

"This is no place for people like you!" Thorin snarls back and takes a step forward, shaking his clenched fist at the insolent woman he is merely trying his best to protect. They stare at each other fiercely, steel blue clashing with earthy brown. "It is simply too dangerous. You cannot even hold your ground in a battle. After what happened in the caves, would you still argue the opposite?"

"Oh, would you cut me some slack? Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about us all the time if you'd just bother to teach us how to defend ourselves!"

"I do not ' _worry'_ about you two. And what- teach you how to fight? Don't make me laugh. Those twigs you call arms would break from the first hit of a sword! Furthermore, Master Baggings received tutoring but his learning pace has been excruciatingly slow."

"What, that's the best tutoring you can get from dwarves?! I feel so fucking sorry for you if that's the case. You just kept swatting the weapon out of his hand, no, I saw you, don't even try to argue! And besides, I'll get better! I got one piece of advice from Nori, _one,_ and I was already doing better in the fight. It takes practice, I thought you, out of everyone in here, would know!"

"I do know that, don't underestimate me, woman! We simply don't have time for this; we must get to the mountain before Durin's day."

"Oh, what, were you too busy getting everyone  _killed_? Well, maybe we wouldn't  _do that_ if we could _defend ourselves_!"

"You shut your mouth right now-!"

”..I see that you two continue to get along splendidly.”

_You son of a bitch!_

They all whirl around to find Bilbo Baggings standing there, bit battered and dirty but otherwise unhurt. Thorin and Saaga are breathing heavily from their battle of wills but they are staring at the hobbit just as incredulously. Gandalf laughs out loud in relief, the remaining tenseness in his shoulders melting away.

”Bilbo Baggins! I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

The hobbit strides forward, patting Balin friendly on the shoulder as he goes. To Saaga’s confusion he flinches at her wavering smile as the woman is completely unaware of her beautifully bruised jaw and bloody gums. The atmosphere seems to relax now that that two tallest of their company, excluding Gandalf, have stopped screaming in each other's faces.

”Bilbo! We’d given you up!” Kíli exclaims in relief.

”How on earth did you get past the goblins?!” Fíli continues, sounding awed.

”How, indeed.”

There is an awkward silence, breached only by Bilbo’s nervous chuckle. Saaga furrows her eyebrows at the strange behavior of her friend. How on earth  _had_ he survived? They had barely made it out in one piece as a group and here comes Bilbo, looking as healthy as ever.

”Well, what does it matter? He’s back!” Gandalf claims and smiles distractedly at the Hobbit.

”It matters!” Thorin says and turns his heated eyes towards their burglar instead of Saaga. Apparently it was time to roast somebody else. ”I want to know: why did you come back? You have craved to turn around and return home, I know you have. I hope you did not decide to return to us out of spite. You should not step down on her level.”

Saaga bristles at Thorin's words and at the accusing finger pointed in her direction.

Bilbo suffles on his large feet for a while before managing to form an answer. He seems to choose his words so very carefully.

”Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. I did not return out of spite; I’m here for the same reason as lady Saaga. To assist you.”

That makes the woman’s eyebrows lift so high they almost threaten to fly off her forehead. Bilbo smiles at her expression shortly. ”I often think of Bag End, true. Just like she misses her home. I miss my books. And my armchair and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back, because you don’t have one. A home.”

Bilbo's words make Saaga's chest ache from inside out. Suddenly the Finn is overwhelmed by the memories of her mother and father, their calm and familiar faces that have never transformed into such rage as Thorin's. _Home._ Fondly she remembers of her tiny apartment and books, her paintings and that silly welcome-carpet she has in the hallway that says _’Wipe your paws here!’_.

_God, I just want to get back._

”It was taken from you,” Bilbo continues and hot tears spring into Saaga’s eyes that she angrily daps away before nobody notices, ”but I - we - will help you take it back if we can.”

All the dwarves are eyeing Bilbo with somewhat newfound respect - for his words or his survival or perhaps both. Saaga cannot, as she is too busy gritting her teeth together despite the pain that flairs in her jaw. She is not here for such a noble reason as the hobbit claims her to be, yeah, she had promised to help Thorin at their mountain but it's not the reason for her being here. Nah, she was here because she was selfish, whiny teen, that could not even take care of herself in this world and was scared of being left alone. That's why she had tagged along in the first place.

Furthermore, Saaga wished someone would volunteer as readily to help _her_  as Bilbo was ready to help Thorin and his company. But no, they all wanted to get back to their precious mountain and in the end Bilbo will go back to the Shire. Who was she kidding? The northerner had no home here, she wasn't welcome - Thorin had made that clear enough. She was just hanging along, waiting for death to take her. She should have stayed in Rivendell instead of begging to come along because of Gandalf. She could have stayed safe and warm and comfortable, but no! No! Saaga had made a bad, hasty decision as usual.

_Maybe if I die I get send back home? What a depressing thought._

At the next second, all too well known howls pierce through the air, startling the once again unified company.

 

 

* * *

Please comment? It would mean the world to me!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Finnish to English:
> 
> (1) You hear me you saatanan paskiaiset! Vitun kusipäät, suksikaa vittuun! Odottakaas kunhan saan teidät kääsiini, väännän teiltä pään perseeseen, kuulitteko?! -  
> You hear me you satan's shits! Would you cunt's pissheads just fuck off (lit. ski into a cunt)! Just wait till I get my hands on you, I'll wring your head into your ass, you hear me?!
> 
> (2) "Senkin kusipäät!" Saaga continues, feeling encouraged. "Toivon, että se päivä tulee ku nämä tyypit vetää teitä turpaan niin että saatte kaivaa hampaat kurkusta! Teidän äidit ei tule tunnistaan teitä ja itkee kun näkee teidät päivänvalos-"  
> "You pissheads!" Saaga continues, feeling encouraged. "I hope that the day arrives when these guys get to punch you hard enough to make you have to dig your teeth from your throats. Your moms are not going to recognize you and they will cry when they see in daylight-"
> 
> (3) Anteeksi. - Forgive me.
> 
> (4) Oh, suksi vittuun, Thorin. - Oh, fuck you (lit. ski into a cunt), Thorin!
> 
> Right, not pretty. If anyone has any better translations for these curses feel free to suggest some. I have now translated them as literally as I could. Finnish is damn hard to translate into another language, jeez. Whenever I try to translate them literally they end up sounding... laughable and not at all threatening. These things sound better in Finnish, I swear!


	6. Anecdoche

**Anecdoche:**   _A conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening._

 

”Run! RUN!”

The brown haired woman is snapped out of her frozen state by Kíli, who is gripping her shoulder and forcing the female along. When Saaga has found her footing, the dwarf lets go and then they are all on the run again, scrambling and stumbling down the mountain with their weary legs, doing their best avoid trees and bushes which branches whipped their faces.

_Somehow this feels very familiar. Oh joy._

Saaga sneaks a peek over her shoulder and regrets it immediately. Her palms sweat up and her eyes enlarge as she picks up the pace, a terrified exhale escaping from between her lips. First it was goblins and now it is those wolves again? Wargs, that's what they were called. Those damn creepers.

Saaga wasn't sure for how long she could keep up with the rest of the company if this pace was going to continue. After the events of Goblin Town she had been more than ready to stuff her face with food and then lose consciousness, gratefully flying off to dreamlands. World didn't seem to agree with her though and she could feel her strength slowly failing her. Saaga was a human and humans were not build to survive this kind of hardships, and while she might have been a decent runner even she couldn't go on forever. The dwarves on the other hand seemed to be natural sprinters, finding new gears after another, just running faster and faster with endless energy. All Saaga could do was to rush after them, muscles burning and lungs feeling like they were about to explode.

The day around the company is already melting into night, wrapping the growling animals into darkness behind them, turning them into pure stuff of nightmares and shapeless monsters whose eyes gleamed in the dark. Saaga stumbles upon stones and roots sticking out of the ground, almost falling, and later when she thinks about it they must have been acting as a prelude to her Plunge of Doom.

Because Saaga’s legs are longer than the dwarves’ she catches up with the leading runners; Thorin and Gandalf. On the next second the cliff comes out of nowhere. Suddenly it is just _there_ , gaping before her and opening a marvelous view of Middle-earth and Saaga almost runs over it, on the last second managing to wrap her arms around a pine trunk that allows her speed to swing her around instead of hurtling her off the edge. Shocked, she leans on the tree, heartbeat drumming in her throat as she stares down and over the edge with huge, scared eyes. Her stomach was performing backflips at the sight.

”Up into the trees, all of you!" Gandalf commands urgently. "Come on, climb! Bilbo, climb!”

The company members question this order for a mere moment before realizing that they have nowhere else to go.

”Thorin, give me a hand!”

Indulging her, Thorin’s large hands form a cup where Saaga places her knee. Even Thorin is breathing heavily from their sprint.

”Don’t drop me,” Saaga has time to hiss before the strong dwarf is boosting her up. Most likely the woman merely imagined the amused, wry smirk that flashed on the king’s face. 

And up she goes indeed. Saaga gets a grip on a thick branch and with painstaking difficulties she climbs her way way to the tip of the tree with Gandalf.

"It's been a while since I climbed a tree," Saaga mutters under her breath. "Bit different from last time." Swallowing hard and drawing in as much air into her lungs as she can, pine needles in her hair and pieces of dry bark under her fingernails, the woman turns to look around to see how her companions are faring.

To her horror Saaga finds them jumping from tree to tree as the pines fall down under the combined weight of the wargs jumping against them. She sends her quick thanks to Lady Luck for having steered her to the furthest tree because _no way_ she could have managed those heroic leaps the dwarves are doing, jumping from one unsafe branch to another. When they finally reach the pine where she and Gandalf are dangling from, Saaga prepares herself for impact with a strained expression.

”Incoming!” Kíli is hollering before the last tree collapses against theirs. Crying out loud Saaga warps her tired arms and legs around the trunk for good measure as the whole tree shakes and thin branches swat against her. Saaga yelps and shrieks, flailing her hand around to desperately redirect the flying wood off her face and eyes.

When the disarray calms down enough, they can hear laughter. It is low and genuinely amused, and it is so out of place that it captures Saaga's attention immediately despite Kíli's efforts of distracting her by asking if she was alright. The orc and it’s warg are pale against the dark night, a stark contrast against the gloomy background, staying just far enough to calmly gaze upon the wreckage their hounds are causing.

”What is that?” Saaga breaths out in nervous confusion, pine-needles prickling her palm and resin making her skin sticky where she has grasped a branch. Even from this far she can see that the orc is massive, looming over everyone else. The orc's skin is pale as that of a ghost and for a fleeting moment Saaga wonders if he was an albino. 

”That, my lady,” Kíli breathes out, sounding just as disgusted as he was shocked, ”is Azog the Defiler. He is the one who-” 

" **Do you smell it?** " Kíli and Saaga both snap their mouths shut and whip their heads towards the orc. The thing is smiling, the scar-tissue on his face making his expression a bit crooked but it didn't make him look funny at all, it only managed to make him look even more terrifying. " **The scent of fear?"**

Saaga feels the back of her neck prickle as she is for the first time exposed to the language of orcs. It wafts over her like a rotten smell of a corpse, instantly making her recoil as far as she could which in this situation wasn't very far because _they were trapped in a fucking tree for Christ's sake_. Because of the orc's voice - low, almost growling, and filled with morbid excitement - Saaga felt like her heart had just jumped into the middle of her chest where it attempted to valiantly fight it's way through her ribcage. Her hands shook and fumbled, and she could feel nervous sweat coating her palms.

Whatever language that was, she hated it. Period. It made her mouth taste like something had crawled in there and died.

" **I remember you father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thráin."**

"Oh, a friend of yours?" Saaga gasps incredulously but Kíli doesn't react, reluctant to stray his eyes from Azog. His jaw ticks in detestation.

" **That one is mine** ," Azog says and points in their general direction with his war-hammer. " **Kill the others!"**

"Nice. Do your friends often act like bears that've been shot in the arse?" 

"He couldn't be further from a friend, stop saying that!"

"I can't," Saaga whimpers and wraps her arms more tightly around the tree trunk, genuine fear shining in her eyes, "sarcasm is my only coping mechanism."

Saaga never finds out what Kíli was about snap back at her as the whole tree shudders. Large snouts of the wars are snapping at air with renewed enthusiasm, ripping off the lowest branches, trying to reach the dwarves, the wizard and the human female. Gasping out in fright they lift their legs as high as they could like any sane beings would do in their situation.

”Fíli!”

The said dwarf on a brach next to theirs catches a pinecone that Gandalf has somehow turned into a torch. They rain down upon them, Kíli catching a few and throwing them at their enemies, others following his example. The young archer seems excited and cheers as one warg actually sets it’s fur on fire because of his accurate throw. Saaga can only stare at the destruction, hands gripping bark and her battered knuckles whitening because of the sudden clarity of _this wasn't her world_. She didn't fit in here, in this situation, not in the least.

_I want to go home. Please, please, let me go home. My life wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't want this. I didn't choose this._

The wargs were withdrawing from the hot flames that licked the dry plants around the cliff, turning it into bright inferno. The dwarves and Bilbo cheer, their faces lightened up with relief and hype and even Gandalf looked more calm.

Saaga on the other hand leans her painfully pounding forehead against tree trunk, closing her eyes for one miserable moment. There were tears prickling at the corners of her eyes but stubbornly the northerner pushes her lips together to muffle an unexpected sob. She could pretend the sting in her eyes was from the smoke all she liked but honestly, Saaga was tired, battered and so fed up with having her life being in danger _all the time_. How could anyone live like this, she had no idea. When Kíli turns to cheer at her Saaga sobers quickly, but the instant the dwarf turns his gaze away again, Saaga's facade crumbles and her lower lip wobbles. Even her pretending skills had limits. She had limits.  _She was at her limit._

Saaga let her eyes roam upon the wreckage around them and felt strangely separate from everything. The dwarves and Bilbo were still cheering, living in the moment, breathing it in and fighting with everything they had. On the contrary, the Finn felt like she was dangerously close to some kind of a out-of-body experience as she watches the events unfold before her eyes, silently wondering what the fuck was she supposed to accomplish in a world like this that these crazy people couldn't do on their own.

_I'd really like to go home now._

Soon the dwarves' excited yells turn into ones of fear as the pine creaks warningly beneath them, making them all scramble for steadier hold. The wood groans and snaps as its roots spring free from the earth and then the whole thing is slowly tipping sideways. Saaga’s brown eyes snap wide as well, a high-noted scream escaping as she falls alongside with the tree, backside first. It feels like the fall goes on forever and ever but finally the tree comes to a jerking stop, leaving the company hanging over the cliff. 

Now the only thing preventing Saaga from becoming one with the landscape was her arm's death-grip on the pine trunk. From the corner of her eye Saaga can see Dori and Ori dangling in the air as well while Nori was jumping for a chance to get a better grip, his hands stretching towards his brothers. There was a desperate but determined pitch in his voice when he tells them to  _hold on by Durin's beard._

Well, Saaga couldn't see Dori and Ori per se, but she could see their feet kicking at nothing clear enough. She draws in a shaky breath as she sinks her nails into the crumbling tree bark.

”Saaga, no!”

Her grip was failing her. Saaga’s hands were slippery with sweat, her feet kicking at deep nothingness below her, face scrunched in a expression of pure terror. Her arms were already shaking under her bodyweight and there was cold sweat gathering on her brow which makes the woman curse under her breath for not ever having any interest in developing the muscles of her upper-body. She could have learned from Dwalin's example.

”Give me your hand!”

Saaga raises her eyes upwards expecting to see Kíli again but no, it's Fíli, his hand stretched downwards and grasping her wrist. His golden hair is fluttering around in the wind and despite the fatal situation Saaga cannot feel anything but respect for Fíli for being able to operate with that much hair on his face. Kíli has found a spot above them both, securing his brother in place with a proper hold on a particularly sturdy branch and Fíli's belt. Those two are a blessing on earth, Saaga quickly decides. Her breath comes out in hiccups as she desperately grasps on to Fíli's offered hand; first with her left and then with her right hand, letting go of the trunk, her whole body swinging uncontrollably in the air. Saaga sinks her nails into the leather protecting Fíli’s arm, holding on with all the power she has left in her small body. Fíli’s face darkens, preparing to start pulling the female back to safety but coming to a sudden stop as their lifeline jerks, wood moaning and creaking, lowering them still.

”It can’t hold us for much longer! We weight too much!”

Their terrified eyes meet, panicking brown against desperate sky blue. Saaga stares up to the frantic brothers, feeling the wind blow through her hair and clothes, making her skin rise on goosebumps. She couldn't stand looking at those two with expressions that desperate.

”Fíli. _Fíli_ , look at me!”

His distressed, handsome face whips towards her at the command. The golden haired dwarf was breathing heavily, holding on to Saaga with every ounce of strength he held.

”It’s okay, Fíli," Saaga hiccups. "It’s okay.”

It's not, but the Finn forces the words out of her mouth anyway. She couldn't leave Fíli and Kíli like this, thinking that they were somehow responsible for the events that were without a doubt to follow. Saaga could never put anyone in that position, especially not these two sweet, silly, ridiculous dum-dums.

"Shut it. Just shut it, Saaga, I'm not gonna let you fall," Fíli grunts from between his gritted teeth with hardened expression. "Keep holding on, alright? Don't you dare to let go," he gasps, sounding almost pleading. "Don't you dare."

Despite Fíli's encouragement, the woman sucks in a breath when her shaking hold slides downwards, hands slipping from the dwarf's arm to his bare hand. Fíli gasps as well, his whole arm shaking from the effort. His muscles bulge under his shirt and jacket which made the leather covering them creak. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he kept blinking his eyes that flashed steady blue each time.

”It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Saaga repeats feverishly, eyes locked with Fíli’s. She'd gladly take the steady blue instead of the view below.

In that moment, the Finn was deaf for everything except for the heavy humming of blood and the loud noise of her heartbeat that drummed a painfully fast rhythm against her ribs. Fíli and Kíli are both yelling something at her but Saaga can only see changes in their expressions, not hearing anything. Unwillingly her hand slips few more centimeters downwards and another dry sob escapes from her lips. She could feel runny snot and sweat smearing her upper lip.

Fíli is now shouting franticly, screaming in fact, and his hand continues to shake under her bodyweight. Kíli is shouting too, looking around for anything that could help them out but there is nothing to be done. Then Kíli's gaze freezes somewhere on the safe ground and he is yelling Thorin's name, the shout ripping it's way out of the dwarf's throat. He manages to make Thorin's name sound like a shriek of a cornered animal. Fíli tries to take a look but he can't stretch his neck enough because he is holding the woman's life in his grip, but Saaga is pretty sure they can both guess that Thorin was about to do something insanely heroic, and most likely also insanely stupid, again.

The northern woman stares adoringly up at the brothers, and with the last ounce of her courage she manages a shaky, trembling smile. Saaga was smiling, smiling, smiling up to them. How cruel the fate could be. They had almost managed to become friends. 

When Fíli's gaze finds hers, Saaga mouths quietly: "It's okay. Go. Help. Thorin." 

The woman can't really hear him, but she could see Fíli's mouth forming the words  _no, no, no, no_ over and over again.

"Please."

_Who said that? Was that me or him?_

She stared up at the dwarf. She really wasn't sure but nonetheless, it made her expression soften. And then just before Fíli’s strength fails him - before he is doomed to face rest of his years feeling guilty about her death - Saaga's grip turns lax, accepting the defeat against gravity. Their warm fingers slip over each other and there is a second of weightlessness that made her stomach drop. 

Fíli was truly a personification of a lion. He even roared like one.

It all happened so fast. The air bellows and whistles in her ears, whipping her hair against her face like a lash. The shocked faces of the company turn into tiny dots on her vision and the teardrops escaping from her eyes fly upwards. Confused, Saaga wonders at what point exactly had she started crying. She could only hope that Fíli didn't see any of it since it would have made for a really sad final sight. Besides that, all Saaga could manage right now to make this easier on everyone else, was not to scream. And so, she falls into the embrace of the deep nothingness in absolute silence.

_I could have done so much more._

_This isn't fair._

_This isn't fair._

Her heartbeat sounds so sad, so vulnerable, and so, so lonely in midst the howling wind.

Then there is something _huge_ and dark spreading over her form. It really comes out of nowhere. Saaga's eyes widen and she twists mid-air, trying to avoid collision but the massive thing is plunging down, mimicking her uncontrollable path. Then giant claws open, clutching the human female in between them and crushing her arms against her sides. It feels like a cage so Saaga panics and finally screams in fear by pure instinct.

Slowly their crazy tumble through the sky is turned into a glide as those massive wings spread out. By now, rest of Saaga’s strength has been sucked out of her by her death-fall and she could only pray that the others stayed safe and refrained from sharing her fate. The woman desperately fights to stay conscious, her brown eyes crossing, trying to focus somewhere, anywhere, but without warning the weight of the day finally catches up with her and Saaga, not being capable of doing anything against it, passes out.

 

* * *

 

Her hands and feet are _cold_.

She should have turned the heater on before going to bed. Winter was coming and the birches behind her bedroom window had been turning brown and yellow as a warning. The Finn had to find her woolen stockings and fast, and if she remembered correctly they were packed at the attic of her apartment building in the storage. Yeah, in the cardboard box by the door.

Why was it so cold? And _windy_?

Slowly and with great reluctance Saaga opens her brown eyes. She continues screaming until the air in her lungs runs out.

The ground is somewhere way, way down below, opening a fantastic view before her. Morning sun is glittering far in the horizon, painting the trees red and golden, and Saaga could see pretty much everything: forests, rivers and clearings, a pack of running deer, and small human villages huddled together against the rest of the world.

Terrified, Saaga clutches the claws of the giant beast while wildly looking around. To her relief everyone from the company seems onboard and most of the dwarves seemed to be actually riding the eagles and not dangling from their claws like small prey. One of the massive creatures soars under them and Saaga could see Gandalf waving at her. Sagging in relief against her rough prison bars, Saaga waves back faintly.

"I'm going to fucking  _murder_ that wizard when we land," the Finn mutters to herself while her teeth clatter together from the cold. It was so freezing her muscles were starting to cramp. "He'll never see it coming. Oh, fucking hell. Sain melkein sydärin. Ei helvetti."(1)

After a moment of peaceful soaring they land on massive rock structure, distantly resembling a bear by its shape. Gandalf is already shouting Thorin’s name before they land, leaping to his aid at the same time as Saaga is dropped on to the ground on all fours.

Not exactly her most graceful moment but what can you do.

Forgetting her own aching body, Saaga makes way to their king’s side with the rest of the disheveled looking company. Nori's complex hair is unquestionably ruined and there are more than few undone braids hanging from the dwarves' chins. There are splatters of something dark and wet all over Dwalin's clothing and his face. When Saaga finally manages to push her way through the company members who seem frozen to where they have landed, she grasps the sleeve of the dwarf closest to her in shock. The woman doesn't even notice she has latched herself on Bombur's side.

Thorin looked like a corpse. There was no other word for it, just that. He was pale and bloody, angry red scratches on his cheeks, nose and forehead. Her breath stuttering, Saaga turns towards the cook of the company and voices her concerns: ”Is he _dead_? How did this happen? For how long was I out? _What happened?_ ”

Bombur just shakes his head, closing his eyes and turning his face downwards in respect, other dwarves following his example. Fíli throws his arms over Kíli's shoulders, drawing his little brother closer who seemed to stare at Thorin with wide eyes as if the situation just refused to sink in.

Saaga could feel the familiar prickling in her eyes and soon water pools in her sight. Her shaking, cold palm raises to cover her mouth, hot breath hurting her sensitive, bruised skin. Not wanting to believe what was happening, her gaze whips from Bombur towards the unmoving figure laying on the ground.

Their king was dead. _Thorin_  was  _dead_. And the last words Saaga had graced him with had been ones of anger - even after Thorin had offered his life in exchange of the company's in the Misty Mountains, including Saaga's.

Eventually when Gandalf raises his hand, most likely to pay final respects to the King under the Mountain, Saaga turns her back towards others and allows herself a moment of privacy. Her chest heaves with deep, pained breaths and much to her surprise small teardrops drip off her eyelashes, forming wet blotches on the ground and clear lines on her smudged face. The woman had never seen a dead person before and more importantly, no one she had known. It's a bit of a shock to tell the truth, to stare at someone's dead body when it had been alive and talking just a second ago. Besides, Thorin might have been rude as hell but Saaga hadn't _hated_ him despite their constant butting of heads. They could have probably became... maybe not friends, but something akin to that given enough time.

”The halfling?”

When the quietly croaked words carry themselves to Saaga's ears, her next inhale stutters, and a full-body shudder travels through her frame. Disbelieving, the woman looks over her shoulder, her eyes still misty from the moisture.

”It’s all right. Bilbo is here. He’s quite safe.”

Saaga is incapable of forming words. The woman merely gapes and turns to shake Bombur’s arm violently in utter disbelief until the cook gets annoyed and wraps the said arm around her shoulders. Basking in relief they lean heavily on each other, Saaga with her whole weight and Bombur thankfully _not_. Dwalin and Kíli are helping Thorin back on his feet while the king groans, his knees almost buckling. Thorin's forehead is sweaty and eyes feverish when his gaze finds the small figure of Bilbo. The king is clutching his chest but they can't, thankfully, see any visible puncture wounds.

”You!” Thorin growls lowly with the explosive rage that was typical to him. ”What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!”

Their burglar looks worried and frightened, and Saaga would have moved to intervene were it not for Bombur who firmly holds her back, clutching at her cape. The woman shoots a confused and partly defiant look at the ginger. While the others might tolerate Thorin treating those who were not his kin like crap, Saaga was not having it any longer; she was going to have words. Bilbo, the poor thing, takes a worried half-step backwards, his relieved face tightening into a more stoic one. He looked like he was expecting be punched.

Thorin doesn't actually punch the hobbit. Not with his fist at least. The punch finds its way to Bilbo in form of harsh words.

”Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?” 

Saaga's hand raises to her mouth again, inhaling sharply at the dwarf's statement. Thorin was striding to Bilbo as fast as he could with a limp, his ripped clothes and furs in disarray, looking ready to raise hell. 

”I’ve never been so wrong in all my life!”

Suddenly they are embracing. Saaga blinks, cocks her head and blinks again. See looks around just to confirm that everyone was seeing the same thing as she was.

_Umm, okay. Did not see that coming._

And it was not the manly pat-on-the-back thing either, it was a proper embrace that engulfed Bilbo's small frame within Thorin's arms. Saaga raises her eyebrows, her mouth forming a small o-shape, suddenly feeling like she should be blushing as there was something incredibly vulnerable in the moment that unraveled in front of the company. Thorin was grinning like a fool. Bilbo was smiling hesitantly as if he had trouble understanding what was going on. Saaga could relate. Rest of the dwarves were eyeing the spectacle and their lips were spreading into huge smirks. 

Saaga was utterly, deeply, profoundly confused. Had she missed something important? Some grand happenstance that suddenly made Bilbo and Thorin the best of the besties?

”I am sorry I doubted you,” the woman can hear Thorin admitting.

Saaga turns away from the sight because it was too rude even by her standards to gaze upon them at a moment of such tenderness. It just felt too invasive and  _apparently,_ it seemed that everyone was okay. Amen to that.

Instead of ogling at the pair, the Finn leaves Bombur’s side after offering him a small smile and turns to look at the view from the edge of the Carrock and to wipe her eyes dry. There was soft wind in her messed up hair as if the breeze itself was apologizing for the treatment it had provided Saaga during her fall. Small birds chirped, singing and flying past them, twirling in the air with apparent joy. Saaga lets her eyes follow them and slowly her mouth stretches into a smile.

They weren't dead. Against all odds they had survived. It was a goddamn miracle.

Saaga closes her eyes to enjoy the sun on her pale face. She breaths deeply. The past few days have been dreadful and all in all painful, and they have totally worn her out.

 _I feel like piece of butter spread on a too big loaf of bread,_ Saaga thinks wryly and wonders where that quote came from. She couldn't really recall.

Saaga could feel her whole body shudder when she thought back on events at Goblin Town and on the cliff just before she fell off of it. Her life had turned into something risky and plenty dangerous. It wasn't what she had originally wished from it, but apparently nobody had cared to ask for her opinion on the matter. How she was even alive right now the Finn had no clue but damn, she was really happy about the fact that she was because all those death-defying moments, the fear of death and mortal injury, and all those bruises the trip had cost her so far, were so worth the feeling of being alive. All the bad times, they were so worth the good ones.

But if Saaga could help it - if any of them could help it - they were not keen on repeating the adventure.

”I do believe the worst is behind us.”

Without opening her eyes Saaga smiles at the hobbit’s words, face still turned towards the sun like a wilting flower towards light. The wind blows, fluttering her tunic and traveling cape while making brown strands of dirty hair tickle her face. 

After all, this whole thing had been hell so far. Surely things couldn't get any worse.

 

* * *

 

”So, let me get this straight,” Saaga mutters, her mouth full of dried meat and cheeks bulging like those of a hamster. ”Bifur is not actually your brother but your cousin?”

”Aye. Bombur is my brother by blood and well, Bifur _feels_ like a brother to me. We’ve been traveling together for a long while.”

”So what you’ve been doing? I can’t imagine there is much mining to do in the west.”

”Well, you know,” Bofur shrugs, lying on his side next to her, ”whatever odd jobs we could find. Bombur is a great cook and Bifur is actually a toy-maker - ya should see what the man can do with a piece of wood. I just do whatever I can get signed up for.”

Thoughtfully Saaga cuts a small piece of dried meat with her knife, careful not to hurt herself. She pops it in her mouth and chews, her expression cringing at the ache in her jaw.

The company has set up a camp at the foot of the Carrock because frankly they were all exhausted. Since they were a long way away from the orcs and have cut a few days off their schedule by flying, Thorin had grumpily accepted they all needed some time to rest and recover. The stubborn dwarf-king didn't even seem to realize that he himself was injured and could do with some extra sleep. There he was, broodily staring at the mountain in the distance. Well, at least he had given up on trying to help Fíli and Kíli gather firewood as Balin had shooed him off.

”That sounds pretty rough,” the woman continues at Bofur. ”Is that why you joined this trip? For a chance to make money?”

”Partly,” Bofur agrees and scratches his cheek absentmindedly. ”I mean, coming on to adventure is better than starving in the wild. While risk of, well, cremation is pretty high, so is the reward if we survive. I’d do anything for us not to have to go hungry ever again. Terrible things it is, a true hunger. Gnaws at the bottom of ya belly like it's trying to eat itself."

Stunned by Bofur's answer Saaga wordlessly offers the man some dried meat. She has never had to go for more than half a day without food and hadn't even thought about it before. The miner huffs a laugh at her distraught expression and thanks her kindly, touching his fingers to the edge of his hat in respect.

”So then the rest of the company,” she vaguely waves in their direction. ”How are they related? I’m guessing Dori, Nori and Ori are brothers as well. The names kinda give it away.”

”Aye, lass. Same mother, different fathers. Their **mother**  was a fierce dwarf-lady, let me tell ya. Her heart was big enough to share her love with numerous men.”

Saaga almost chokes on the water she was in the middle of drinking. She swallows with some difficulties.

_’Shared her love?’_

”Nothing to be embarrassed about though. Fine men they all are. Or well, Nori does his best but what can you do when you have a soul of a magpie. Anything shining in sight and _whoosh_  he is gone.”

They both look at the said brothers, Nori and Dori quietly squabbling over Ori’s sleeping form. The days must have been rough on the young scribe as well.

”Dori is trying to raise a honest dwarf out of Ori the best he can. He is decent at it, he really is, but Ori looks up to Nori like he is his hero. Things are difficult sometimes. In the end, they all come together however. Kinda beautiful, that. Warms my cold miner's heart.”

Bofur and Saaga share a amused, dimpled smile. Then Bifur is stomping towards them, offering wooden spoons which Bofur is first to accept with a quirk of an questioning eyebrow.

**”Food is done.”**

Saaga accepts the second spoon and smiles up at the haggard dwarf from her seat on the ground. Bifur might look scary to some, maybe (most likely) also a little wrong in the head which might have something to do with the orc-axe, but Saaga had gotten the impression from Bofur that Bifur was a good man despite all of it. And if there was someone in the company she was starting to trust besides Bilbo, it was Bofur. He had silently been on her side from the beginning. She could make an effort to please the dwarf by being nice to his cousin.

**”Thank you, Bifur. We'll join you in a second.”**

The dwarves around her flinch despite of the wide smile that finds its way on Bifur’s face. It is crooked like that of a mad-man's, but a smile nonetheless, and Saaga returns it now without hesitation.

”It is so strange when ya do that,” Bofur mutters at her, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. ”I always forget what ya are capable of.”

”Right, because me speaking is such a miracle.”

”Ya know what I mean.” Bofur furrows his thick eyebrows. ”Ya sound like a natural in Khuzdûl, actually. Ya make speaking it sound so easy.”

”My native language is harsh as well. You know, the northern language. That might be the reason. And speaking Khuzdûl is kinda fun. How should I put it... it feels like I'm rolling a pentagon shaped stone on my tongue. I know it sounds strange but I don't know how else to describe it.”

"It's still unheard of, lass. We dwarrows don't speak it in front others and so, Khuzdûl is the most guarded secret of our race. It ain't something ya hear from a stranger coming from the northern side. Ya don't hear it from anyone, coming from any side of the world, really. But I'm glad you enjoy it. Would be a shame if the only person to speak it outside of our kin was to dislike it."

Bofur is nodding thoughtfully at his own words and gets up on his feet, more than ready to enjoy the early dinner. When Saaga follows his example, she notices that Fíli and Kíli have returned from their scout for firewood, arms full.

Everyone seems to have a clear vision as to why they are here and what they are capable of. Saaga herself is not so sure when thinking about her position in their miss-matched group. If she would have to put a name on it, then borrowing Dwalin's words, she would probably say she was the translator of the group. 'The language master' - yeah, that sounded cool.

”What about Fíli and Kíli?”

”Well what _about_ them?”

”Why are they here?”

Bofur shoots her a weird look before seeming to realize something.

”Oh, right. You’re not from around here, you wouldn’t know.” A cheeky grin appears on his face. ”They are prin-”

”Actually, hold that thought.” Saaga is suddenly pushing her spoon in Bofur’s hand, leaving the miner staring after her in confusion.

There was something off with the brothers for never before have they been this quiet, obedient and sullen. Across their camp Fíli is eyeing Saaga angrily, his cheeks warm with color and blue eyes flashing sharply in daylight. Kíli looks withdrawn as well but in a more careful way like he wasn't exactly sure what he should do. Saaga stops in front of the brothers, hands on her hips.

”Okay Fíli, I’ll bite. _What_ is your problem? You are staring at me like you want to punch me. While I know most people here don't like me this is certainly new.”

Now that gains the attention of others as well. The company members all turn to look at them with high eyebrows, shooting questioning and partly nervous looks at one another. Even Thorin seems to startle out of his deep thoughts, turning to take a look.

”You know what? I really _do_ wanna punch you,” Fíli spits at her and instantly Saaga is reminded of the dwarf-king. Maybe Thorin and Fíli are somehow related. The young, golden haired male drops the firewood rebelliously with a clatter. Kíli is just eyeing Saaga almost sadly from under his bangs.

”What? Why?”

”Because _you let go of my hand_.”

Fíli is pointing at her, his thick finger snapping forward with every word. It takes Saaga a second to understand what this is all about. Her hands fall limply to her sides, anger leaving her and hollowness filling her chest in its stead.

”Oh.”

”Yeah, _’Oh!’_ ,” Fíli imitates her a bit childishly. ”How could you do that? How could you do something like that to me?”

”What’s going on?” Bilbo has appeared next to them, looking ready to act as an intermediary - bless the gentle Hobbit. The other dwarves are closing in on them as well and Nori even shakes Ori awake to enjoy the show.

”What happened?” Thorin asks seriously, eyeing Saaga with undeniable suspicion. The wordless accusation makes her cringe.

”She,” Fíli snarls, still pointing at Saaga, ”let go of my hand. On the cliff with Azog. We were hanging there and she just let go. You just gave up!”

Fíli is shouting now and it makes Saaga take a uncertain step backwards, her arms raising to cross over her chest in useless defense. The distraught face Fíli had made when Saaga had fallen off the edge flashes across her memory. Her chest aches and it makes her arms tighten their grip around her.

”What, are you saying she..,” Bilbo quiets down for a second to find his words, ”willingly fell into certain death?”

The hobbit’s voice is full of disbelief as are the faces of her new friends, especially Bofur. Saaga on the other hand suddenly feels like weeping from frustration. For god’s sake, everybody in this world seemed to want an explanation for every little thing you did.

”Now, now,” Gandalf raises to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff like an old man he is. ”I’m sure lady Saaga did no such thing. It sounds absurd.”

Saaga feels cold after the wizard’s words. Absurd, indeed.

”Yes, I did.”

Her confession produces sharp intakes of breath from the company members and even Gandalf comes to a halt, his expression melting into worry and - to Saaga's utter humiliation - pity. Fíli is glaring at her, turning his back and stomping off. Before he can get further than a few steps however, Saaga leaps after him.

”No! _No!_ Fíli you misunderstand! Fíli, please, _look at me!_ ”

That makes the golden haired dwarf pause and turn to stare incredulously over his shoulder. ”That’s what you said to me on the cliff.”

Saaga moves to stand before him, her thin fingers desperately curling into the fabric of Fíli’s brown vest in order to keep the fuming dwarf still. The woman is a bit taller than Fíli so she remains in arms-reach so that he doesn't have to look up at her. The difference wasn't that noticeable though, and with a quick look one could assume them the same height.

”I willingly let go because I knew you could’t hold on much longer.”

”I could have!”

”Don’t lie!” Saaga barks. ”Your hand was slipping. I would have died anyway, it was only a matter of time.”

”So, what, you decided that just _giving up_ was the best thing you could do?”

”I didn’t _give up_. I willingly let go of your hand so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about my death.”

Fíli is looking at her, shaking his head incredulously, those sharp blue eyes squinted and braids waving. His words come out as a mixture of confusion and anger.

” _What?_ ” He spits.

”I willingly let go, yes. But only because I didn’t want to put you in position where you would have had to think my death was your fault. Because it wasn’t! I just couldn’t do that to you!”

”Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

” _Yes_ ,” the woman hisses and shakes _the stupid_  dwarf in front of her. ”Yes, it should! How could have I ever lived with myself if I’d let something like that happen to you. To any of you!”

”Well, you wouldn’t have been exactly _living_ , now would you?”

”You would have been angry at me,” Saaga whispers urgently, ”you would have been so angry you would have hated me. And forgetting about a death of someone you hate is much easier that forgetting about someone who you…”

The Finn quiets down, not exactly sure how that sentence should have ended. 'Someone who you consider to be a friend' would have been pretty close to what she had in mind but she doesn't dare to voice it. Maybe it was better not to put a name on this fragile thing that was slowly blooming between the human and the dwarves. Saaga sucks in a few heavy breaths, her head now hanging low, and hands slipping off of Fíli’s shoulders and down to his muscled arms.

The brown haired woman tells him softly, "I'm _so_ sorry, Fíli. Things were happening too fast. I thought I did the right thing.”

Finally - _finally -_  Fíli is melting under her earnest look. He huffs exasperatedly and lands his hand on Saaga’s shoulder, staring in her eyes intently. The shoulder feels thin and fragile under his massive palm, devoid of that sturdy bone-structure he was used to with dwarven women. With a invisible startle Fíli realizes that Saaga is bloody _tiny_ compared to them despite her height advantage. At the moment, the human in question just seems overwhelmed by gratefulness of the fact that Fíli isn't the grudge-holding type.

”You’re crazy, woman,” Fíli informs Saaga firmly before dragging her into a tight hug. The young dwarf finds himself holding back on his strength in fear of crushing her. Beneath the clothing Fíli could feel Saaga's sharp bones and ribs poking at him, making regret bloom all around his chest. They should have taken better care of Saaga and Bilbo. This journey might be rough on them all but the two of them were made of softer material than dwarrows.

”I’m so sorry,” Saaga whispers against Fíli's golden braids, metallic beads cool against the flushed skin on her cheeks. ”I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Embarrassingly, there are tears in Saaga's eyes, the weight of her decision finally becoming clear. So shoot her, she is crying because she had almost died.

Saaga’s hands grasp at the fabric at Fíli’s back, tugging him closer and relishing in his warmth that burned like a forge, calmly and steadily. The young dwarf returns the gesture hesitantly, hands gently patting her back in return. This was the safest place in Middle-earth, Saaga decides.

They stayed like that for a while, gently embracing each other. Fíli’s expression is finally transforming back into a smile that came much more naturally to him than a frown. He could leave that to his uncle.

”Alright, come on now,” Fíli tries to separate from her but Saaga only tightens her grip around him.

”No. Don’t you dare to move now. I have tears in my eyes and I am embarrassed enough by this shouting match. Just… just give me a minute.”

With an awkward harrumph, Fíli lays his jaw on her shoulder. He looks at the crowd surrounding them and smirks.

”They are all staring at us. I think Ori is blushing and Gandalf looks way too smug for it to be healthy,” the golden haired dwarf laughs against her ear. ”And I think Kíli is ready to join this hug. You think you can you handle him? He is a bit rough around the edges so you might want to prepare yourself.”

”I was born ready,” Saaga laughs wetly and then she feels Kíli’s warm body crash against her back.

”You worried us to our early graves,” Kíli is muttering at her, pushing his face against the side of her head and breathing warmly into Saaga’s neck. She had been wrong: this was the safest place in Middle-earth. Right here, between the brothers. If she could get Bofur to join them in this, all the better.

”Promise us you never, ever again do something stupid like that. Not while you are traveling with us. Ever!”

”I’m so sorry. I promise, I swear on my life,” Saaga repeats to the younger brother, gently knocking her forehead against his as she has seen dwarves do. Because of the movement their dark hair mixes together, and suddenly it’s hard to tell where the younger dwarf begins and the woman ends. Fíli just made a bright contrast against both of them.

”You are forgiven,” Kíli smiles that beautiful smile of his that melts rest of the worries from Saaga's heart. ”Could we _now_ go eat dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Finnish to English:
> 
> (1) Sain melkein sydärin. Ei helvetti. - I almost had a heart-attack. Goddammit.


	7. Socha

**Socha:** _The hidden vulnerability of others._

 

”I see yer jaw is healing quite nicely.”

Spoon drops from her hand into soup and sloshes it on her pants. Hastily Saaga tries to pat it dry with her tunic-sleeve, only managing to spread the mess but thankfully the soup had been pretty watery so it would probably just dry off. Giving up, she turns to nod at Òin.

”Yeah, it is. Thank you for your concern.”

”No need to thank me, lass. It’s my job.”

Surprised, Saaga raises her eyebrow at the gray-haired dwarf. 

”It is?”

”Aye. Come now, we must see to yer wounds.”

”Wounds? No-… no, it’s fine. I have no wounds.”

”Then what do ya call those?”

Óin is pointing at her damaged hands and Saaga grimaces. The old dwarf was right of course, her poor hands looked horrid: once beautiful, even nails are broken and dark with dirt, her knuckles are bruised green and violet and the skin around them was worn off thanks to their escapade in Misty Mountains. Not to mention there are tiny splinters of wood all over them even though Saaga had spend the last evening trying to pick them off.

”Ya better go before my brother makes ya,” Glóin grunts. He is eating his soup rather messily, at least half of it finding its way into his beard instead of mouth. ”He can be very persuasive if needed.”

”Glóin, get a grip. Ya are eating like a pig, ya are. What are you, fifty?” His older brother scolds. A deep burp from Glóin makes Saaga finally move away from the ground and hesitantly give up her almost empty soup-bowl.

”At least I don’t look like one.”

”Oh, for goodness sake, you’re acting like a dwarfling. Right this way, my lady. Ignore my dim-witted brother.”

Obediently Saaga follows Óin to a large rock where they take their seats. Trying to relax, Saaga crosses her legs and allows Óin to take a closer look at her hands. He makes this disapproving _tsk_ -noise with his mouth and starts to rummage through his stuff.

”Ya should take better care of your hands, my lady. Ya are only blessed with one pair.”

”Sorry,” Saaga mutters and to her horror flushes with color because it feels like her dad is scolding her for some reason. Óin is looking at her seriously under his eyebrows.

”It’s fine, lass. I am here so ya have nothing to worry about. You’ll be ready punch more goblins in no time.”

”Uh, I’ll pass if I can. It kinda hurts.”

”Of course it does. Yer hands are like that of a wee child, all mushy and soft-skinned. Truth to be told, if any of us had anything to say about it, we would prefer them to stay like that.” Óin has pulled tweezers out of a pouch and placed something Saaga can only write down as a monocle on his large nose. It makes his eye look disturbingly large compared to the other.

”Why? Because I’m a woman?” She cocks her head at him curiously.

”Well,” Óin starts slowly and Saaga flinches when the first splinter is pulled out, ”yes. Do not misunderstand me, my lady. For dwarves a woman is their treasure. They are much more important than any jewel or all the gold in the world. We will protect them to our graves if we must for having a female in a family is truly a blessing from Mahal.” There is another fast movement from Óin and a pained whimper from Saaga. ”Now, we don’t judge other races for not doing the same, their circumstances are different.” Another splinter, gone. Saaga fights the urge to pull her hands away from this torture. ”We cannot help them with stupidity, there is no cure for that. But we can help them protect them in their stead.”

Óin seemed happy with his work and packed the tweezers carefully away. He fished out a tiny bottle and poured the insides on a small piece on linen. Gently, he then proceeds to dap Saaga’s knuckles with it.

”Protect who?” Saaga asks distractedly.

”Women. Lass, were ya not listening?”

”I was, I was, sorry.”

The old dwarf is looking at her studiously. ”Good. Then ya understand that we would prefer if ya would keep out of trouble in the future.”

Saaga shrugs at him, completely honest. ”I can only do my best.”

Óin is now packing away his medicine-bottles and starting to bandage her hand. ”I’ll take yer word for it. The lads are rash sometimes and nobody wants them to do anything stupid while trying to protect ya. Which they will but at least we could try cutting down the losses.”

”Is this about Fíli and Kíli?” Saaga asks, her face stretching into a smile. ”You are trying to protect them?”

”Of course I am. Don’t be daft, lass.”

”Well that's good. I understand perfectly, I do. I’ll do my best to stay out of trouble. I have no delusions about myself, I know I’m not a fighter.”

Óin is looking at her strangely and strokes those twin-braids under his chin. Saaga takes a look at her hands and finds them firmly but gently wrapped in bandages. The woman smiles gratefully to the dwarf who only grunts in response.

”Thank you, Óin. I do have a question for you if you’re up for it.”

”What?”

”It’s about… Azog? The Pale Orc. I want to hear about him.”

Óin leans backwards, taking a breath so deep that it makes his mustache flutter.

”That is not a happy story, lass. Are ya sure?”

”I feel like I need to hear it,” Saaga mutters and tucks her knees under her bruised jaw. ”I think it would make me understand this quest better. And Thorin. He isn’t exactly making it easy to warm up to him. That’s kinda his thing; being all mysterious and gloomy.” Saaga smiles a bit sadly at her own words. ”He seems so burdened. Like there is a heavy weight on his shoulders all the time that I can’t see. Just looking at him makes me feel exhausted.”

Óin is sighing heavily, looking across their camp to their king. He huffs and puffs for a minute before seeming to come to a decision. ”You should ask Balin about it. He was there.”

”Hmm? Where?”

”In Khazad-dûm,” Óin says quietly, ”in the battle of Azanulbizar.”

”I’m not even going to pretend that I’m going to remember that name.”

”Balin will know what it’s about if you ask about Khazad-dûm,” Óin grumbles and lights his pipe. A tangy smell of tobacco curls in the air and wafts around his face. Curious, Saaga sniffs at it. The smell was a little bitter and not at all unpleasant. She has seen the dwarves smoke sometimes but before this Saaga has never dared to sit close enough to actually smell it properly. It makes her kinda miss cigarettes.

”Can I try?”

”Hmm?”

”Your pipe. Can I try it?”

The silver-haired dwarf shakes his head at her. There is smoke coming out of his nose, making his mustache flutter once again. Briefly Saaga wonders if it was rude to ask for someone else's pipe but thankfully Óin doesn't seem to mind beyond casual worry.

”It is not good for a lady. If ya want to make wee lasses and lads yourself one day, I suggest ya leave it.”

”That’s not a problem. Let me try.”

Óin is furrowing his eyebrows at her which makes Saaga wave at him irritatedly, trying to get him to part with his pipe. ”That’s a terrible thing to say, lass. Do not say such things around Glóin at least, you’ll never hear the end of it. His wife and son are the centre of his life.”

Saaga sighs, dropping her bandaged hand on her lap. She eyes Óin grumpily. ”I can’t have children, Óin. I’m infertile,” she feels the need to clarify because of his wide eyes. Saaga wrecks her brain to try and find a way to describe her condition without overwhelming the dwarf with medical-vocabulary of her world. She settles for the most plainest explanation she can muster. ”I’m… malfunctioning. I cannot make babies.”

_Wow, way to drop a bomb on someone, Saaga. ’By the way, I can’t have children. Now give me your pipe!’ Yeah, nailed it._

Óin’s grey eyes are huge. ”Are you quite sure?”

”Yes,” Saaga stresses is a voice that leaves no room for further questions. Wordlessly Óin hands the pipe at her and curiously the woman takes a whiff and then breathes in the tobacco-smoke, her whole body relaxing as she exhales. They continue to sit like that, Saaga calmly smoking and Óin sitting next to her in stunned silence.

_What a nice bonding moment, this. You’ve made him mute to go with his half-deafness. Well done._

”Do you think I should get a weapon?”

When Óin does not answer her, still deep in his thoughts, Saaga pokes his ribs with her elbow. The old dwarf startles.

”What was that?”

”Do you think I should get a weapon? You know, to protect myself.”

”Nori can help ya with those. He is very good with smaller weapons.”

Laughing, Saaga exhales more smoke, accidentally almost choking on it. ”That might be wise, I mean… Can you imagine _me_ with a proper  _sword_? Hell, I’d be crushed under it before I could even lift it.”

”You are a bit wiry if you do not mind me saying, my lady. But despite that we were all surprised when we realized you have not been guided in ways of swordsmanship. We will see to it eventually if ya wish. But before that, ya should get more meat over your bones. Can't build in any muscle without that. Healer’s orders.”

”Ah, the result of lots of sitting down and slouching, really.”

”That, if something, kills a man,” Óin stumbles on his words, ”a woman.”

Saaga is smirking at him, looking at the old dwarf with bright eyes dyed amber by sunlight. This situation is not unknown to her.

”It’s all right, Óin. You don’t have to tip-toe around me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I never have kids.”

The dwarf sputters at her, his entire face slowly turning scarlet.

”What have you done to my brother? Is he letting you _smoke_?” Glóin has joined them on the rock, eyeing Saaga oddly and Óin worriedly. Saaga notices Glóin's beard is still somewhat damp from the soup.

”I don’t know,” Saaga says with fake innocence. ”He just suddenly started changing color. Is it normal for dwarves?”

”Will you please put down the pipe, lass. It’s disturbing,” Glóin grunts, completely ignoring her question.

”Ah, yes, of course.” Saaga hands over the pipe to a very confused and therefore grumpy dwarf. ”Now, where is Balin? I need to speak with him.”

Glóin points somewhere behind himself, eyes squinting suspiciously at her.

”Thank you,” Saaga adds before turning to thank Óin one more time. She then turns to leave but can’t quite hold herself back. ”You should really do something about Óin. I think the poor man is choking.”

 

* * *

 

Saaga and Balin had spend a good part of the day discussing Azog the Defiler in hushed tones. Never could the northern woman have imagined the heavy weight of the past on Thorin’s shoulders to be so… well, heavy. To her wonder, she had also learned about their match at the cliffs where Thorin was wounded in painstaking detail. Saaga had to be proud of Bilbo of course, the small man had shown courage of a giant instead of a Hobbit when it was required of him. His and Thorin’s fierce embrace at the Carrock now made sense as well: Thorin approved of people with courage and loyalty. Saaga's only wish was that she could have been there to see the confrontation.

_But no, you were too busy leaping off cliffs. Shame on you._

Huffing, Saaga basically hatches out of her green tunic for it has turned partly hard because of the stains and smudges. Disgusted, she drops it on the ground, releasing herself out of her bra as well.

”Ugh, disgusting.”

The stink of sweat is not pleasant. The area of the bra that comes under her armpit is brownish instead of white and there are nasty lines made by its wiring on Saaga’s skin. Annoyed, the woman undresses out of her pants, boots, bandages and undergarments ( _yeah, still funny_ ) before wading into shallow river, careful not to slip. Slipping and hitting her head would be embarrassing, not to mention a pretty lame ending to her story.

”Helvetti miten kylmää!”(1)

Shaking in freezing water, Saaga prepares herself for a second before ducking under water. Furiously the Finn scrubs her scalp and hair, the river washing away sand and blood among other things.

_Gross._

When she gets to her armpits Saaga pauses. Armpit-hair. She has _armpit-hair_. While the woman is alright with the bush _down there_ and she even tolerates the hair on her legs because let’s face it, everyone is lazy about that, she isn’t going to tolerate _a jungle_ in her armpit. _That_ is just gross even thought it’s completely natural. Other ladies can do as they like but when one is used to shaving on regular basis the change is a bit of a shock. Getting over her pause Saaga wonders if Nori has a razor she could use to solve the problem. Even when her life has taken a completely bizarre turn it feels good to hang on to normal, everyday things because how else would she continue to feel like herself. 

As fast as Saaga can, she finishes washing herself and emerges from the coursing water much more cleaner but freezing. Her toes have already lost any feeling they might have had. Dearly missing her soft towel at home, Saaga sets to wipe most of the water off her skin with her pants turned the wrong way around because, yeah, that is the cleanest part of her clothes.

Shaking and shivering, Saaga jumps into a shirt which had been kindly offered by Ori and into warm pants, way too big for her. She stuffs the pant-legs into her boots which proves to be a difficult task with her damaged limbs and swollen knuckles. Most of the company’s backpacks were lost in the Misty Mountains, leaving them with only few full rucksacks and with whatever they had managed to keep on themselves. That had left Saaga with the only option of borrowing some spare clothes after she had, with a great bang of regret, realized that her modern clothes at the bottom of her backpack were long gone.

Luckily, probably still stunned by their earlier conversation, Óin hadn’t even asked what the linen Saaga had also requested was for. With great difficulties the woman had managed to bind herself with it so her breasts wouldn’t move all over the place. There were just some distractions their group couldn’t afford. Finally clean Saaga sets to wash her clothes, the task warming her up somewhat but doing nothing for her toes. Cursing, she squeezes all the water off the best she can before making her way back to camp.

The evening is already turning into night and the fire Bombur had started earlier has never looked more alluring.

”All done,” Saaga informs the others who are still sitting on the _exact_ spots where she had left them after her declaration of going for a wash. Dwarves and their chivalry, honestly. ”Thanks for the shirt, Ori. I don’t know what I would have done without it.”

”Dwarvish clothes seem to fit you very well, my lady,” Ori compliments her kindly which in its innocence makes Saaga smile. Dori is nodding in agreement next to his little brother.

”Thank you. These pants are _huge_ though.”

”That would be because they are Dwalin’s.”

A bit weirded out, the brown haired woman turns towards the warrior, eyeing him speculatively.

”Please tell me you are not pant-less under that coat.”

Dwalin barks a gruff laugh at her, a few others joining him.

Saaga smirks and turns to hang her drying clothes on a tree branch. She hesitates momentarily when it comes to her bra but then just shrugs. It’s not like the men will know what its for and if they do work it out then _boo-hoo_! Surely they are not as delicate as to get riled up because of some undergarments ( _that still makes her giggle, damn_ ).

Saaga secures her new pants on her hips with short rope and places her belt over her shirt for double security. Thankfully, the belt also keeps the huge shirt out of the way of her hands even though the wide sleeves offer a small problem. She needs to come up with some kind of a fix for those. At least the shirt is quite easy on the eyes, warm brown in color and complicated stitching at neckline. Despite the shirt the woman shivers and proceeds to throw her travel cape over her shoulders for warmth.

”Thorin, there is something I have to talk to you about,” Saaga informs the solemn man while securing the cape in place. When she has the king’s attention, Saaga takes a seat next to him. The stoic dwarf still makes her nervous. It feels a bit like talking to a police officer: all her sins start suddenly running through her head and making her wonder for what she will be scolded for this time.

For a while they sit in silence and Saaga starts to bandage her own hands again because there is nothing else to do. Thorin is eyeing her pitiful attempts at it from the corner of his eye, lips twitching with good natured humor. Saaga, concentrating on the task at hand, does not notice.

Eventually Saaga gives up on the-mission-impossible and huffs, letting her hands rest on her lap in a nest of bandages. Saaga smiles shortly and embarrassedly at the king next to her.

”Now you’re expecting me to say something mind-blowing. Sorry to disappoint ’cause actually I just wanted to thank you.”

Thorin is now looking at her with those burning blue eyes and it makes her swallow. God, they are so captivating and… and _burning_. They make her want to break a sweat. How the woman had not realized Thorin is royalty, she cannot say. Maybe she was just dumb. Gathering her courage Saaga crosses her legs under herself and turns to meet Thorin eye to eye. Huffing with laughter inside, she realizes that lately she has spend a lot of time like this with kings.

”I wanted to thank you for what you offered to do in the mountains,” Saaga tells him softly and earnestly which makes Thorin lower his pipe, his face serious. He has few strands of hair falling over his handsome features. The king's eyes gleam in the light of the fire.

”No one has ever offered…” Saaga's voice is barely a mumble and she twiddles with the bandages nervously, lowering her brown eyes. Then she exhales shakily before continuing. ”You were ready to give up your own life for ours. That is something I will never forget,” Saaga finally manages to tell him. The woman had put it quite simplistically but hopefully she got her point across.

Thorin’s serious features are breaking into a small smile and _oh!_ he definitely should do that more. Stunned, Saaga’s eyes glide over his face, eyeing the man in wonder. He is definitely one of the most handsome men Saaga has had the pleasure of knowing.

”It was all I could do”, Thorin says seriously in that low tone. ”Every member of this company has proved themselves hundred-fold. I’d do anything to get them back home safely.” His eyes flicker towards her, locking their gazes together. Saaga can feel herself starting to sweat as Thorin continues: "Fíli informed me... he told me that part of the reason why you fell on at the Carrock was to give him a chance to join the fight against Azog. Is this true?"

The woman swallows with sudden difficulty, "Yeah, I guess. Look, I'm not suicidal or anything. I  _don't want to die,_ that's for sure. But Fíli was just stalling the inevitable, I knew I was going to fall anyways and was just keeping him from saving somebody else so I... so I let go."

"It was brave of you. Please accept my gratitude for saving Fíli the misfortune of guilt and for letting him assist me in the fight even when it almost cost you your life. I am grateful."

Saaga smiles at that, her cheeks forming dimples, "It's fine. I guess this makes us even in regards to gratitude?" She then cocks her head curiously at the dwarf-man. ”You think the Lonely Mountain is worth all this... is it worth this fight? Worth all the hardships and pain?”

”Erebor,” the king stresses heatedly. ”It is our home. All the hardships and pain mean nothing next to it.”

The brunette's eyes slide over Thorin’s form thoughtfully. 

”Home,” Saaga rolls the word on her tongue like tasting a exotic spice and turns to look into orange flames. ”I don’t think I know what that word means anymore. It’s so different in here. It's as if the word has a different meaning entirely.”

Now it is Thorin’s turn to look at the woman curiously, pipe-smoke escaping from his lips.

”I believe you said your home was in the North?”

”Yes,” Saaga agrees lightly, ”but I don’t know if I can return there anymore. It's starting to look like that even Gandalf with all the powers in the world can’t help me.”

The brown haired woman is biting her thumb, deep in thoughts. Her words were true; if Gandalf knew how to send her home, why wouldn't he tell her? The most likely reason for his silence was that he really didn't know how to do it.

”I don’t think my parents even know I’m gone," Saaga whispers sadly.

”Surely they would know.”

”We live far away from each other,” Saaga confesses quietly, ”so I don’t think they do.”

That makes the dwarf-king lower his pipe to the ground and to Saaga’s surprise, he gently cradles her small hand into his. The solemn man starts to bandage her palm carefully, his calloused fingers astonishingly tender. It is like Thorin has turned into a completely different dwarf compared to the one who had almost struck Saaga in Rivendell in blind rage.

”I’m sure that when they notice you are gone, they will miss you greatly. There is no parent who does not love their child.”

The gentle squeeze on the Finn's hand almost makes her eyes water. Saaga looks upwards and blinks furiously to get her tears under control.

”You shouldn’t do that,” she whispers, swallowing nervously, gaze now captivated by the task. ”You are a king. And I’m basically a beggar.”

Thorin just huffs at her words while tying a neat knot on the linen. He starts with the other hand which Saaga offers gratefully.

”You are surprisingly good at this.”

”Fíli and Kíli get into trouble more often than not,” he informs her, sounding disapproving. ”This is hardly my first time bandaging someone’s hand.”

”Yeah, I bet,” Saaga smiles.

When Thorin is done and picks up his forgotten pipe again, Saaga examines the neat bandages with a pleased smile. She can even wiggle her fingers which is a major improvement.

”Thank you, Thorin,” the woman says kindly to the king who just tips his head at her courteously. Maybe the grumpy man wasn't so unreachable after all.

Her hands all done, Saaga scoots closer to the fire and pulls her heavy boots off, releasing white toes for all to see. Deathly-white actually because she has once frozen her toes at winter and now blood almost stops circulating every time cold crept into her bones. Saaga hisses, rubbing her feet and wiggling her toes in front of the warm fire.

”Give the lady some socks, she is freezing!” Balin berates the others when noticing her.

Before Saaga can get a counter-argument out Kíli has already pulled off his own boot and sock, dangling it in front of her face. Apparently Saaga and Thorin have been too gloomy for his liking so far.

”You can have mine!”

Saaga recoils and swats the smelly sock off of her face. Few meters away, Balin is shaking his head and sighing deeply and Saaga wholeheartedly agrees.

”Kíli, that’s disgusting. Back off!”

”What? Balin said to offer you one,” he smirks evilly, the little bastard. ”Go ahead, don’t be shy.”

”What, you couldn't even bother giving me the whole pair? Just one sock?”

”You can barely handle one! I mean look at you, you’re turning green.”

”Kíli, enough,” Balin tries to interrupt fruitlessly.

”That’s because I have never smelled anything worse in my entire life.”

”Ooh, I’m sorry. I forgot you are _a delicate flower_.”

”You know what, Kíli,” Saaga snaps at him, ”If you don’t back off _right now_ I will stuff that _delicate flower_ so far up your ass you’ll be able to taste it.”

A disbelieving silence falls as her words cut through the quiet chatter around campfire where they are all seated in neat circle. Even Balin looks taken aback. All eyes on her are impossibly wide, Kíli before her a perfect example. He is gaping, mouth opening and closing in turns, unable to get any words out. Embarrassed, Saaga scratches her cheek.

_Too much?_

”Kíli,” she tries desperately to lighten up the mood, ”stop looking like a fish on dry land. You’ll swallow a fly.”

”Lass,” Bofur says from the other side of campfire, slowly taking off his hat in respect. ”I swear of my hat, had I any soap with me, I would wash your mouth with it.”

Saaga grimaces under their disapproving looks. Dwalin on the other hand just looks impressed and Fíli is trying to cover his snickers by coughing violently.

Saaga feels like she has to defend herself, ”I’m sorry but North is a tough place. We have been taught to make a stand when someone is messing with you.”

”What happened?” Ori is asking, looking confused. Dori has protectively covered his ears with his hands.

”Nothing. Keep drawing,” his older brother advices. Nori is trembling next to them with barely held-back laughter.

”No, but seriously, Saaga. Do you want my socks? They are pretty warm,” Kíli offers.

”Thanks Kíli but no. They wouldn’t even fit into my boots. I’ll be fine once I get my blood flowing.”

Furiously Saaga rubs her numb limbs, toes slowly turning angry red and starting to prickle. The woman stretches them experimentally.

”See? All fixed. I’ll live to see another day.”

The dark haired dwarf shrugs at her, pulling his boot back on and moving to his spot next to his brother. Fíli is nudging him with his elbow, a smirk on his face. Kíli just swats him on his arm as a response. Saaga smiles at the pair, her chest warm as she watches then squabble playfully. When Fíli notices her in turn, he raises a light-colored eyebrow in question.

”What?”

”No, sorry,” Saaga smiles at them, tucking her legs under her bruised chin. ”I was just wondering how old you are. Mostly because you two act like little kids.”

Fíli huffs at her and, honest to god, puffs up his chest like a peacock its tail, ”Of course we are adults, can’t you tell? I’m already 82 and Kíli is 77. He is the baby of the family.”

”Am not! But yeah, we are at the prime-age of the dwarves,” Kíli continues and imitates his brother’s proud gesture with all seriousness.

Saaga would laugh at their antics but she is at loss of words. The woman swallows, staring into flames, her dark eyebrows high. She shakes her head in genuine disbelief. ”You’re old men compared to me. Like _grandpa_ -old.”

”What?” Kíli exclaims, stunned. ”We most definitely are not! Or if we are old by your definition, then what about Thorin? He is already 195-years old.”

Eyes huge, Saaga turns to look at the king over her shoulder. ”They are kidding, right?”

Thorin is furrowing those massive eyebrows at her. ”I believe they are quite serious.”

”You’re a walking mummy,” Saaga informs him intelligently. It makes Thorin crack a small smile at her.

”I’m surrounded by… by _old-people_.”

Her bandaged hands find their way on her cheeks in horror of the revelation. Saaga then turns to look at Balin and Gandalf. Very quickly she comes to a halt. ”No,” Saaga states firmly, ”I’m not even going to ask.”

The two old men laugh quietly at her, eyes twinkling. They are _ancient_ , their eyes shouldn’t twinkle like those of a twenty-year old. Rest of the company members are chuckling as well, clearly highly amused by her disbelief.

”Then how old are you?” Kíli asks the woman curiously. ”Fifty? Sixty?”

”Uh,” Saaga manages to mumble faintly, ”twenty-five?”

” _What?_ ” Fíli sputters at her incredulously. ”You’re just a baby!”

”That she is,” Glóin bellows at her. ”Even my son Gimli was deemed too young to join this mission and he is just few years younger than Kíli. You’re but a wee-lass. A babe, really.”

”Now hold on there, I’m not a dwarf. I’m of the race of Man. Twenty-five is already considered an adult. Actually, anyone past eighteen is an adult.”

”Are you serious?” Kíli asks her, looking distraught. ”Then how long do you live? Do you just, you know,” he waves at her, ”stay like that?”

Amused by their curious looks, Saaga laughs at the dwarves.

”No, we do not. That would be fun though. We only live until eighty or even up to hundred if we are very lucky.”

It looks like Saaga has voiced her own death-sentence. The dwarves start looking at her sadly, mournfully and in distress, all at the same time. Ori’s wide brown eyes are looking at the woman as if in a completely different light. When he turns his eyes towards ground in sadness, Nori pats his shoulder comfortingly.

”I didn’t know they died so young,” Saaga can hear him mumble.

”Ooh, come on now, don't be so dramatic. That's what it’s like to be human. You know how they say the brightest candles burn out fastest?” Saaga hurries to explain.

”And you have decided to spend some of that time on this journey with us. We are deeply humbled, my lady,” Balin says in all seriousness, tipping his head at her.

”Oh, pish posh! That’s absurd. I’m happy to be here,” she pauses for a second. ”Well, most of the time anyway.”

Suddenly Kíli is offering Saaga his socks again, having gotten rid of his boots once more. ”Here, Saaga, take them.”

”Kíli, they are too big, I can’t-”

”Just,” Kíli offers her desperately, ”just take them. Please. Take them.”

”You are being ridiculous,” Saaga informs him strictly but accepts the offered socks and pulls them on. It seems to make Kíli’s face brighten so it’s not like she could have refused. Clearly proud of himself Kíli is looking around the camp, beaming at anyone who happens to meet his gaze.

Then Fíli starts pulling his own shoes off as well.

” _No!_ No, enough of this madness! I refuse to rob you of your socks. One pair is more than enough,” Saaga exclaims.

Still Fíli is continuing his task, pulling off his filthy socks and offering them to her like they are the most precious thing in the world. ”Please take them, lady Saaga. You need them more than I.”

”I do not! Put them back on for heaven’s sake.”

”Please. Take them.”

”You can have my furs. I’m not cold, can hardly feel the chill,” Dwalin is grunting, shaking the said furs off his shoulders.

”I have extra-gloves,” Ori informs her eagerly.

”Take my hat, lass! It looks better on you anyway!”

_Okay, now you are just asking for it._

”No!” Saaga raises on her feet, looking down at the golden haired dwarf who started this whole mess. ”Fíli, you put those _bloody_ socks back on or _I swear to god_  you will not like the result.”

”But,” Fíli is still offering his socks, ”I’m not, _uh_ , ’messing with you’.”

”Put. Them. Back. On,” Saaga growls dangerously. ”And stop treating me like I’m going to fall into pieces if you poke me. I won’t. I’m a northern woman and we are made to withstand anything and everything world throws at us.” She turns to look at the other dwarves as well, her murky eyes burning like campfire. ”I will not tolerate you treating me like I’m made of glass. I refuse.”

Finally, because Thorin is one of the wonders of Middle-earth, he steps is.

”Enough. Kíli, Fíli, leave it. Everyone, do as the lady says.”

”Yes, _thank you_!” Saaga throws her arms in the air.

Frustrated she takes her seat by the fire again. Saaga is fuming. The dwarves might be just considerate towards her and she appreciates it, she really does, but at the same time the northerner hates it when people treat her differently: like she is a child or like she isn’t capable of taking care of herself because she happens to have a vagina. The young woman is _more_ than capable and she will _ask_ for help if she needs it. That is the way of Finnish people and anything else is just an insult to them.

”We didn’t mean anything by it,” Kíli is muttering defensively.

Saaga sighs deeply and looks at the brothers from the corner of her eye. Her words were too harsh towards them, Saaga knows this. But she cannot have the Durin brothers or anyone else of the company in delusion that they would have to treat her like a fragile- _proper_ -lady. She wants true gestures of friendship, not those brought by forced chivalry and group-pressure.

”It’s fine. I apologize for snapping at you. Actually, I want to apologize to everyone. Sometimes my temper gets the best of me,” Saaga finds herself admitting. ”You should know though that treating a northerner like me like I’m somehow weaker than you is a grave insult. Of course I appreciate occasional gestures of good-will but you did go a bit overboard with the clothes, don’t you agree?”

Fíli startles, looking very worried. ”I have insulted you? With my socks?”

Saaga barely manages to stop her eyes from rolling to the back of her skull. ”With making me look weak,” she clarifies. ”But I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It is all forgotten. I understand dwarves treat their ladies differently from the race of Man.”

”I’m starting to think I don’t like Men very much,” Dori is huffing. ”Ladies are more precious than earth itself and this is how they treat them. Unbelievable.”

”It’s called equality,” Saaga shrugs.

”It is stupidity,” Dori snorts, unaware of himself replaying Óin’s earlier words.

”As I understand,” Gandalf is suddenly speaking to them all, ”they have no other choice in the north. Life there is tough and therefore so are you, my dear.” His eyes are smiling at her. Startled, Saaga wonders if she has actually managed to impress Gandalf the Grey. ”And I don’t think no one in this company can say otherwise,” he continues. The wizard turns his warm eyes towards Bilbo who has been following the conversation beside him, face changing into amused, horrified and disapproving in turns. ”And then there are those who must leave home to be able to become such.”

”I have insulted her?” Fíli is still muttering incredulously to himself, not caring about the speaking wizard. He turns to Kíli, whispering in hushed tones and looking more worried by the second. ”What should I do? I have insulted a lady.”

”I don’t know! I’ve never done that. You think a proper apology is going to be enough?”

”You think?”

”What if she tells you to cut your braids? Or your _mustache_?”

Protectively Fíli’s large hands rise to cover the lower part of his face with a anxious look in his blue eyes. ”No way.”

”But _what if_?”

”She wouldn’t.”

”But she _could_.”

”What on earth would I do with his mustache? Or his hair?” Saaga asks and now it’s her turn to look incredulous.

”Well, lady Saaga, if a dwarf insults someone, he must of course redeem himself if the insult is grave enough,” Balin explains warily, ”and it could be done by cutting off hair. It is a very serious gesture. Our culture celebrates hair and it symbolizes many things for us, for example status, blood-line or profession. To cut it off would be… something gravely serious would have had to happen before it.”

”Oh,” she breathes in understanding. More than ever Saaga was now sure that dwarves were very strange creatures indeed. Not taking any chances Saaga turns to face Fíli and crawls a bit closer, taking his large hands between her own bandaged ones.

”Do not worry Fíli, all has been forgiven. You couldn’t have known any better.”

Fíli is almost sagging in relief, Kíli snickering next to them. The golden haired brother cracks a smile at Saaga in relief. ”Oh, thank Mahal.”

”Your mustache is very handsome. I love it,” Saaga continues earnestly, ”I wouldn’t ever even dream of cutting it off.”

That night Saaga finds out that Fíli is a heavy blusher when he is pushed into it. All of his skin under that golden-hued hair is slowly turning bright pink, all the way down to his neck and tips of his ears. It would be highly amusing if it weren’t so weird considering the situation and the fact that Fíli is usually so cocky and sure of himself. Kíli is smiling so wide it looks like he is ready to burst.

”Oh no,” Saaga says slowly and stares at Fíli warily. ”What have I done this time?”

Balin behind them is clearing his throat, ”As I said,” the old dwarf continues uncomfortably, ”hair is very important to us.”

It takes a while to words to sink into her thick head. When they do, Saaga swallows, her brown eyes locked with Fíli’s. ”Did I just-… _uh_ , accidentally flirt with you? By any chance?”

Kíli is basically dying. He is laughing so hard he tips over and rolls on the ground, holding his stomach. Saaga let’s go of Fíli’s hands as if they are on fire.

”Sorry,” Saaga whispers, eyes shamefully on the ground. It was an accident, honestly. She didn’t mean to cause any confusion.

”No harm done,” Fíli is clearing his throat as his voice sounded a bit faint.

”Well then,” Bofur states merrily, ”that was beyond awkward.”

It is like ice has broken and others join to roar with laughter alongside with Kíli. Even Saaga smiles carefully, scratching her head and eyeing red-faced Fíli nervously.

”Cultural differences,” the woman offers as an explanation. Her smile is slowly turning into smirk.

”Thought as much.”

”I have never seen Fíli turn so _red_! I didn’t think he was capable! Just wait 'till **mom**  hears about this!” Kíli shouts, his mouth stretched in huge grin and eyes squinted with laughter.

”Shut up,” Fíli grunts and slaps his brother on the back of his head.

”Ow!”

They are playfully fighting once more, slapping each others arms and pulling hair and Saaga is content with this as well because Fíli is now laughing.

_Crisis avoided. Thank goodness._

”What are these?”

_Or maybe not._

Ori has risen from his seat between Nori and Dori to stretch his legs. He had been on his way to look at the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain and possibly to sketch it but stopped when he had noticed a strange clothe hanging from a tree brach. Curiously he collects it in his hands to have a closer look at the damp garment. Saaga is on her feet in split-second, hand raising towards the young dwarf in horror.

”Ori, no, don’t, put it back-…”

The the worst thing happens. Ori - completely oblivious as to what he is holding - places Saaga’s bra curiously _on his face_.

”What is the function of this strange clothing?”

Saaga can’t speak as everything that could possibly come out of her mouth is stuck in her throat. She can feel her blood humming, changing her pale skin into pink, matching Fíli in her state. In her embarrassment, Saaga buries her face into her bandaged hands not wanting to look at the spectacle.

”Ori, please put it back where you found it,” she sputters and sneaks a glance at him between her fingers. ”That is meant for covering my breasts.”

 _Good grief with these dwarves_ , Saaga thinks as their camp turns into chaos.  _This whole journey is going to be a emotional roller-coaster._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter was really difficult to write and it took me ages to get it out of my head the way I wanted. I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless. Please comment if you have a minute? :) I'd appreciate it a lot.
> 
>  
> 
> Translation from Finnish to English:
> 
> (1): ”Helvetti miten kylmää!” - "Oh hell, that's cold!"


	8. Exulansis

**Exulansis:**   _The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it._

 

They had left early the next morning. Feeling quite well rested they had been quick to hide all the possible signs of their camp, packed their few bags and left. Despite their fast pace the Lonely Mountain seemed reluctant to come any closer. It remained in their sight but stayed far enough for it to feel unfriendly.

Ori hadn’t been able to look Saaga in the eye last evening and it seemed that he had decided to continue the same way today. The woman felt bad because of it as Ori was truly very sweet, but she allowed him some space to get over his embarrassment. They barely knew each other anyway and that just made the accident twice as embarrassing. After all, the events last night had almost ended in Ori’s cut beard if Saaga hadn’t insisted for it to be left alone. Accidents she could forgive, perverted intent not so much.

The Finn’s head has basically turned into a hair hurricane after her dip into the river. Saaga had lost her comb along with her backpack at the Goblin Town and that had forced Saaga to use fingers when trying to untie the knots from her hair. The result wasn’t pretty. The woman feared her hair was partly turning into dreadlocks in its messiness. Her hands were still bandaged, her pants were like a tent and she wore merely a undershirt over her bound chest under her travel cape. However, the others were no better than her. Their boots were splattered with mud and in some cases - mostly Dwalin’s - also with blood. Their hair hung heavy over their shoulders and they _smelled_.

If Saaga was an orc she could have just sniffed their tracks like a bloodhound as the stink was truly quite distinctive.

_Love the smell of testosterone in the morning._

Stubbornly they continued onwards. Sometimes Saaga would merely eavesdrop the conversations around her and sometimes she took part despite the fact the she remained painfully clearly foreign in the dwarves' company. Saaga couldn't help who she was but regardless, the dwarves didn't seem to mind her strangeness even when it caused some confusion and barely hidden amusement amongst them. For example, when Saaga one evening informed Bombur about their bit questionably smelling mushroom soup that she would "rather eat it that get beaten up"... well, let's just say she had had some explaining to do as Bombur horrifiedly blurted that he would never do such a thing and then _everyone_ fell in to sullen silence that made Saaga roll her eyes.

"Calm down, you morons. It means that one should be thankful for the food that is in front of them. Don't be silly. Bombur, seriously, I would never think of you would beat me up for not eating. Relax."

It wasn't the first nor the last time Saaga blurted out something weird. Her phrase 'fits like a fist in the eye' got her a strange look as well when he complimented Bofur about his hat, not to mention when she informed Bilbo that the Hobbit had drunkards buttons on his vest. It didn't take long for the company to realize that none of the things Saaga said weren't actually offending, merely translated from her native language, and took it in their stride. Saaga didn't mind because it made them smile even on rainy days. Besides they were laughing  _with_ her, not  _at_ her.

However by far _Saaga's_ favorite way to pass time was listening to Bofur, Bombur and Bifur. The three of them were so very positive about everything, got excited over anything and whined about nothing. The woman felt her heart warming every time Bofur would warn his brothers about dangerous rocks that could have tripped them over or when he snapped at Bombur not to snack on their food while walking.

"Bombur, you got a little something on your chin there," Bofur had muttered and waves towards his neck. "No, not on that one... like on the third one down."

To specify, the trio made Saaga crack up. 

Today Saaga herself was in high-spirits as well. The good night sleep had done miracles to her psyche and even the blisters on her heels didn’t feel as bad as they could have. Kíli and Fíli were laughing loudly every once in a while and even Thorin seemed to be in a mood to tolerate it. Balin was conversing with Glóin about the changes in the investment of their journey while Óin was trying to straighten his trumpet, cursing in Khuzdûl when he thought no one could hear. It was by far the most enjoyable day of their adventure.

So, they continued on. They walked over high hills and clearings covered in brown grass, under fallen tree trunks and around massive rock boulders.

”I'm starting to enjoy this,” Saaga finds herself explaining to Gandalf. ”It almost feels like we are on a camping trip instead of a suicide-march. It’s very refreshing.”

”The change of pace is truly welcome,” Gandalf agrees and Saaga smiles at him when she notices that the wizard was using his staff as a walking stick.

”I was getting sick of running everywhere. While I enjoy running, I don’t enjoy running for my life if you know what I mean.”

”There is a difference,” Bilbo on her right agrees.

They launch into discussion about Bilbo’s feet and how he manages without shoes through all seasons. The hobbit is a wonderful conversation partner, Saaga notices. He listens, makes agreeing humming noises in all the right places and shares his own life experience without holding back.

”-and then when I opened my door - and let me tell you I was quite ready to tell them to leave - all the rest of the dwarves fell right over my doorstep. How could one in such situation turn them away? They were already half inside!”

Saaga laughs at the image Bilbo was painting in front of her. Thorin looks over his shoulder at her without Saaga noticing, his stony expression smoothing out a bit and when he turned and continued walking, the line of his shoulders remained relaxed for a good few hours.

”What happened then?”

”Well,” the hobbit chuckles but Saaga can hear a tiny hint of bitterness in his voice, ”they pillaged my pantry, destroyed the piping and threw my mother’s fine china around while singing a song about all the things I hate. It was absolute chaos.”

”And you still agreed to come with them?”

”They didn’t break anything and they did clean after themselves,” Bilbo explains. ”Of course I was cross with them, very cross indeed, but there was something about them. There _is_ something about them. It just makes you want to forgive.”

”I know what you’re talking about.”

Saaga pointedly looks at Fíli and Ori while Bilbo is eyeing Thorin’s back.

”It’s like… they are glowing from within with this _warmth_ that you are automatically drawn to. Like water to moon if you want to put it poetically. Yeah, they can be rude and sometimes disgusting and they have no table-manners to speak of but they are also so funny, loyal and genuine in everything they do.” The woman speaks quietly and swipes loose strand of hair behind her ear. She cannot help but smile sadly. ”I wish people were more like that.”

”They are not?”

Saaga snorts, ”Very rarely. I used to say I’m allergic to all human-kind and refused to have anything, except for what was absolutely necessary, to do with them. I get along with people fine but I don't particularly enjoy it. People are so... unpredictable. Frivolous.”

Bilbo hums thoughtfully and his nose twitches. 

”We hobbits also prefer not to have much to do with the tall-folk if we can avoid it. No offense intended.”

”Tall-folk?” Saaga asks, her voice colored by amusement. ”I guess that means that I’m officially not of race of Men as I am definitely not tall. What a relief! I’m just a smidge taller than Thorin after all.”

”And I am not half of anything,” Bilbo chuckles, ”and yet they still call me halfling.”

 

* * *

 

Why couldn’t things ever go the way they wanted?

They had continued their journey for few days and it had seemed that they had truly eluded the orcs that had been after them. Or specifically, after Thorin. Same difference. The blessed peace had been broken yesterday evening by Gandalf who had hurried to smother their campfire.

”What is the meaning of this?” Thorin had asked suspiciously. The company had been on their heavy feet in seconds, ready do act.

”They must have run through nights and days,” Gandalf had told them grimly, ”for the Pale Orc is approaching.”

After that it had been a rush forward, mile after mile, wolf-howls ringing in their ears and orc screams filling their dreams. Dwarves had tried to be inconspicuous about it but Saaga soon realized that she was not allowed to wander further than few meters off their camp without someone trailing after her. Saaga well and truly appreciated the gesture but had to snap at Dwalin once or twice before she could even go pee in peace. The sight of her giving Dwalin a heated speech about the importance of privacy while waving her hands agitatedly in the air and slipping into Finnish every once in a while - much to Dwalin's confusion - had send other dwarves into a fit of laughter.

That had been yesterday. They had hurried their steps through the day but it seemed that they couldn’t even stop to sleep and eat tonight. They didn’t whine about it. Better go on tired and hungry than, you know, die.

”How was it?” Bofur asks worriedly when Bilbo appears from his scouting trip. He is out of breath but otherwise alright.

”They are close, very close. And we have another problem as well.”

”They have found our scent?” Gandalf asks hurriedly. They can only guess he is already planning their next escape-route.

”No, no, it’s not that.”

”They saw you? They saw you, didn’t they?”

”No, it’s not that either.”

Gandalf sighs in relief along with everyone else. Balin is patting Bilbo on his shoulder, smiling widely and nodding in approval. Even Thorin smiles a little at their burglar.

”What did I tell you?” Gandalf says with warm pride. ”Hobbits are quiet as mice and so very light on their feet. Excellent burglar-material.”

Bilbo doesn’t look as happy about the praise as he could have. Instead he is checking over his shoulder, eyes glancing over the shadows in the forest non-stop. ”Will you please listen to me? There is something else there in the woods. Something bigger. Something more dangerous.”

Saaga swallows and instantly her hand finds its way to her knife. She has learned it the hard way that horror stories in Middle-earth are rarely just stories.

”What form did it take? A bear?”

The company members turn their heads to look at Gandalf in surprise. That whole sentence had sounded plainly weird and it was clear the old man was planning something, going by his contemplative expression.

Suddenly there is a figure standing next to her and Saaga startles. The woman looks curiously at Nori whose extravagant hair is just as messy as hers. Wordlessly the dwarf offers the human female a long hunting-knife, masterfully twirling it in his hands before offering it to her handle first.

”Are you sure?” Saaga whispers quietly to him, eyebrows furrowed. ”Don’t you need it?”

Nori shakes his head at her, beads in his hair clicking against one another.

”I have others. That small butter-knife of yours will do you no good in front of a forest-beast.”

Saaga places her small hand on Nori’s shoulder and squeezes it gratefully.

”Thank you, Nori. I promise to treasure it.”

”Just don’t impale yourself on it,” Nori says and his green eyes are twinkling with mischief. He turns to take his rightful place at Ori’s side. Soothingly, without anyone noticing he rubs Ori’s back, trying to get him to calm down a notch.

”Yes, a bear,” Bilbo is agreeing to Gandalf’s earlier question. ”But much, much bigger. How did you know?”

”Ya knew about the beast?” Bofur exclaims, shuffling on his feet. ”Ya know what, I suggest we double back.”

”And be run down by a pack of orcs?” Thorin’s authoritative voice quiets all arguments and everyone looks at the king, waiting for further instructions. Before Thorin can suggest anything however, Gandalf continues.

”There is a house, not far from here, where we could take refuge.”

”Whose house?” Thorin asks, eyes narrowing. ”Friend or foe?”

”Neither. He will help us or he will kill us.”

”I don’t know about all of you,” Saaga whispers, arms crossed and nervously shuffling on her feet, ”but to me that doesn’t exactly sound like a bullet-... _water_ -proof plan.”

”What choice do we have?” Thorin asks mostly himself.

Suddenly they all startle, twirling and looking wildly around as a loud roar rips through the night. Saaga could recognize such a roar anywhere; she has seen enough bears in real life and in documentaries. One of the perks of being a Finn.

The peculiar thing is, that the small woman stays frozen in place, looking towards the direction from where the roar was heard while the rest of the company merely looks ready to bolt in the opposite direction. There is something nagging in Saaga's brain, distracting her, like that shadow in the corner of your eye when you try to convince yourself it was just a trick of light. Goosebumps rise on her arms and her murky eyes stare into wilderness as if trying to see through everything in there. Nervous tingling makes itself know in the pit of her stomach.

”None,” Gandalf answers Thorin’s question. Saaga's hands start to sweat.

”Time to go. Run!”

And so they do. Run, that is. They run through the darkness half-blind, hitting twigs and bushes as they go, Gandalf urging them to move faster and faster. Ori stumbles and on the next instant Nori and Dori are there on his both sides, lifting him in the air and rushing him forward until Ori finds his steps.

”Come on!”

Saaga is already out of breath, Nori’s hunting-knife still secured next to her own but ready to be drawn if needed. There is another eardrum-splitting roar that makes the Finn’s poor ears ring and which almost makes her stumble as she is forced to cover her ears with her hands. Saaga whips her head around in confusion but it seems that no one else is bothered by it, just plain scared. Between the roars of a bear they can distantly hear the mournful howls of the wargs. Truth to be told, those scare Saaga a hundred times more. Bears usually avoided human - especially when they were making as much of noise as their company was while rushing through the trees - but the wargs and orcs were hunting them specifically. 

”This way, quickly!”

Bofur is tugging frozen, terrified Bombur along as Saaga rushes past them. She can see the forest-line ahead and makes a run for it. When they burst out of the forests into a meadow their feet come to a sudden halt. Everyone’s eyes widen and instead of going forward they actually take multiple steps backwards; Dori even falls down on his butt in his haste to scramble in the opposite direction.

The bear is huge. A monstrous creature, really. In fact, it is barely a bear and more of a monster straight out of a common folk’s nightmare, it’s shape some kind of a cross between bear, wolf and a giant. It is a giant, black mass against the moonlight.

”Beorn,” Gandalf mutters. They can hear nervousness in the wizard’s voice.

Eye to eye with the bear there are Saaga, Thorin and Gandalf, followed by stunned Fíli and Kíli and the rest of them behind those two, Dwalin approaching Thorin’s side protectively. The bear looks at them one by one and a low, deep, ferocious growl comes out of it’s huge mouth. His yellow teeth are the size of harpoons.

”Mahal help us,” Kíli blurts behind them. That snaps the northern woman out of her terror. Trembling, she struggles to find her voice, forcing her fear to a more manageable level. Her nostrils flare from the slow inhale.

”Listen,” Saaga says quietly and forces herself to stay calm, averting her eyes from the bear’s and looking somewhere on it’s left, ”do not look it straight in the eye. That is a sign of approaching attacker. Stay. Calm.” She cannot turn around to look if they are obeying her so one can only hope for the best. ”Lower your weapons and hunch low. Follow my example.” Carefully the woman crouches down and lays her weapon on the ground behind her feet.

”Have you lost your mind?” Thorin hisses from her side, his voice as ferocious as the bear’s. ”We are not giving up our only defense!”

His angry words seems to spark something in Beorn as he bellows at them, his massive snout trembling by the force of it. Saaga has her heartbeat lodged into her throat.

”You may be the King under the Mountain, Thorin,” the woman says and barely manages to keep her cool. She _really_ wanted to smack Thorin right now, ”but a bear is the king of the forest. And as in front of any king, you will bow down to it.”

It was really less about bowing and more about looking non-threatning but the dwarves didn't need to know that. They liked their dramatics. It must have been rubbing off on her as well.

”Do as she says,” Gandalf whispers fiercely, lowering his staff to the ground. Reluctantly the others seems to do as ordered because Saaga can hear swords and axes clinking against the small rocks. Thorin is last one to obey, laying his sword on the ground but not letting go of it. It would have to suffice.

The next growl is somehow softer, like a question. The huge animal takes a curious step forward.

Something rattles in Saaga’s brain, something distracting, like that humming noise you get when you're about to faint, and something that forces you to notice the change in the air. The butterflies in her stomach were going crazy, turning into rats and then into elephants. A sudden head-splitting headache slashes through her temples and Saaga gasps in pain, hand coming to push against her forehead. Fíli and Thorin shoot her a worried, sidelong glance, not wanting to part their eyes from the bear for too long.

Another growl comes from the huge animal and suddenly it's just _confusion-fear-dwarves-enemies_.

Incredulously Saaga raises her gaze to meet the bear’s against her own orders. The woman cocks her head slowly, brown eyes locked with bright yellow ones. Her chest heaves with heavy breaths.

”What?” She whispers incredulously and lets some of her weight lean on her hands on the ground where she is crouched on all fours. The woman leans forward as if trying to hear better and then, against her better judgement, the northerner moves carefully towards the bear. Just a little leap on all fours. No one sees Bilbo flinch but he does, for Saaga’s way of movement suddenly reminded him of Gollum. The dwarves in turn suck in nervous breaths.

”What are you doing?” Thorin is hissing at her. His blue eyes snap franticly from the bear to Saaga and back and his hand curls tightly over the handle of his sword.

”Saaga, get back, you fool,” Gandalf orders as well.

But woman cannot hear them for she has eyes merely for the bear. Something switches in Saaga’s brain, like a car switching gear and then a low, animalistic growl escapes the thin lips. How her vocal chords manage to actually produce that sound, Saaga had no idea. Her first growls are experimental, ending in a sort coughing fit before she accomplishes a sound that gets the bear's attention. There's a drop of sweat sliding down her forehead.

_not-enemies-dwarvers-yes-enemies-no_

Saaga can hear soft inhales of breath from behind her but cannot tell from who they came from. Could have been from all of them. She certainly cannot turn around to check for if she does this bear will rip her in half. Of that, the woman has no doubt.

_confusion-fear-home-dwarves-no-protect-protect_

Saaga cocks her head into another direction in order to hear better. Hair messily frames Saaga's round face as she listens to the low growls of the bear, ears almost twitching but not quite. Behind her, Fíli and Kíli were ready break into a run to her aid at any second, Thorin’s raised hand being the only thing halting them into a stop. Their jaws tick as they force themselves to stay where they are. Slowly and carefully the woman crawls ever forward in front of them. To her, there is something different about this beast. It was conscious; a living-being with a mind that understood life and death and time. It wasn't a mindless monster. And that meant it could be negotiated with.

Now a low whine leaves Saaga as naturally as words would.

_please-help-darkness-orcs-fear-friends-fear-death_

The bear is eyeing her suspiciously, it’s teeth still bared and still prepared to attack. Regardless, it takes another step ahead and now they are just meters away from each other. Scarily enough they have a size difference of a small rabbit and a bear.

_dwarves-hate-hate-death-pain-must-protect-home_

She has to do something. Saaga needs this to work or she will die. They will all die. 

_no-dwarves-friends-love-love-protect_

The massive monster before her leaps a step forward, smashing it’s giant paws against the ground, it's claws sinking into it like a hot knife into butter. Small pieces of pebble and grass fly against Saaga’s feet and hands. She can hear terrified but hushed shouts of her own name. Behind her, Kíli has gripped Fíli by his clothes before he can leap forward, double swords threateningly waving.

The growling mouth of a bear is right in front of her face.

_NO-dwarves-ENEMIES-HATE_

Bloody hell, she didn't come this far to die in the fangs of this bear. Fuck no. Fuck that. Fuck this all, she's not going to let her only friends die here.

At that moment Saaga does the bravest thing she has ever done in her whole life. The woman raises to her feet, takes a breath so deep that it hurts and _roars_ as loud as her lungs allow, the noise ripping its way through her. It is a mindless scream filled with grief, anger and defiance for the sake of family and protection. And its loud. Louder than Saaga has ever screamed before - louder than is entirely natural - and it bounces and echoes from the sparse woods and stones, making the dwarves and the wizard to jolt from the sheer shrill of it. As Saaga takes a threatening step forward, the bear takes one backwards, more confused than scared of course. To Beorn Saaga isn't  _that_ scary no matter how loudly she screams.

_confusion-confusion-confusion_

Beorn’s low whine rattles through her bones. Saaga can feel her own vibrating in her lungs and returns to her earlier crouching position, her body shaking with her heavy gasps for air. It pretty much felt like she had punched herself in the gut but at least she had shown Beorn she was serious. But that didn't mean she should appear disrespectful or threatening. 

_friends-love-protect-please-please-please_

Those yellow eyes are like depthless pools of honey. Now that the bear has calmed down it looks almost intelligent and almost human by it’s expressions. It is quiet for a long time, breath huffing out in massive bursts and Saaga herself holds her own breath, face earnest and pleading, her eyes wide. Dwarves are gripping their weapons a bit tighter, hands tightening on weapon-handles and sneaking to secret knives, ready to be thrown in case everything goes down south. Nori sneaks his hand into the depths of his coat, fingering the edge of a throwing knife, calculating whether he could actually throw it far enough to save the stupid female. 

 _trust-home-safe-go,_ Beorn growls with great reluctance.

Saaga almost leaps forward to hug the massive beast but she doesn’t dare to. If the woman startles the thing it will wipe the ground with her body in mere seconds.

_love-gratitude_

Saaga croons at it, a grateful smile on her face but she is still careful enough not to show teeth.

_love-protect-friend?_

The bear lowers his muzzle to her forehead, heaving a big sigh that makes Saaga’s bangs flutter. Gandalf behind her is blinking hard at the sight.

 _protect_ , the bear agrees.

Then Beorn huffs once more and turns to left, breaking into a run. It dashes into the dark forest with a furious cry, leaving the baffled company staring after it. Gandalf scrambles back on his feet, everyone else following his example. Saaga smiles, rising back upright but swaying in unbalance and stares after Beorn. There is an unexplainable need to follow and hunt down the orcs and tear them apart; nothing would bring her more pleasure at the moment.

Stunned, Saaga looks down to her shaking hands, adrenaline making her light-headed.

What in the name of screaming hellfire just happened?

The dwarves are picking up their weapons and coming closer, their voices just plain noise to her. They sound just as delirious with adrenaline as Saaga herself. With a low whine the woman places hands to cover her ears and closes eyes tightly. The racket her friends are making hurts Saaga’s sensitive eardrums and it feels like there were needles pushed into them.

Suddenly there is a clear command, going by the tone of the voice and it becomes quiet. Curiously, Saaga raises her gaze to meet Thorin’s who has stridden next to her. Now that Saaga looks at him there is something different about the king; like his eyes are brighter and more expressive. She can read million things from them as easily as reading a book. She can read the relief from the frame of his shoulders and the corners of his mouth, gratefulness from the lowering of his eyebrows and exasperation towards her from his gaze.

Thorin is making low noises at her. But just that: noises. There is nothing to distinguish words from one another which makes Saaga turn her head sideways in confusion. She croons gently at him.

_safe-friends-safe-go-now_

Thorin comes to a halt before her and now exasperation makes way for the bafflement in his eyes. Same happens to the brothers who stand behind their king, looking at her with wary expressions. A worried line appears between Gandalf’s eyes when he looks at Saaga studiously and unfortunately, their tense reactions make her react badly as well.

_confusion-confusion-confusion_

Her earth-shaking growl is turning angrier by the second. Saaga doesn't enjoy this heavy silence nor the way their shoulders tighten and eyes become colored by suspicion. She had just managed to gain their trust, she was not going to lose it again.

Threateningly Saaga takes a slow step forward to snap them out of it. The sound the woman makes grows louder in volume as she eyes the dwarves, Thorin most closely as he is the one standing before her and commands all the others. Her chest rumbles by the growl’s force. Saaga’s facial features darken, eyes turning almost black as her pupils blow large, and hair forming a sombre halo around her head as she growls deeply and threateningly, her upper lip curling upwards as she bares her white teeth.

Thorin is looking at Saaga like he has never properly seen the woman before. His blue eyes widen and breath stutters in surprise in his throat as he takes a step back. He is making more noises, sounding warning, and it confuses Saaga even further. Slowly the king’s hand lowers on top of Orcrist that is hanging from his side.

_How dare he!_

There is a sudden flutter of grey and a painful smack on Saaga's forehead.

”Language, young woman!”

Saaga shrieks, covering her face with her bandaged hands and falls right on her bottom.

”Mitä helvettiä, Gandalf?”(1) Saaga shouts, water raising into her eyes that she squints at the wizard. ”Tuo teki ihan helvetin kipeää!”(2)

The wizard is raising his staff to give her another smack but Saaga scrambles backwards, empty palm raised in surrender.

”No, sorry, wrong language! My mistake! My mistake!”

The company members sigh so loudly in relief that even Saaga can hear them. Suddenly snapped back into clear consciousness makes her feel tired and without a further words Saaga slumps on her back on the ground, her chest heaving and eyes fixed on the stars above them. Thorin closes his blue eyes for a brief moment and looks upwards as if sending his gratitude to someone. Feeling a bit disorientated Saaga allows Bilbo to help her up on her feet a moment later. She swallows and gasps for breath as if she has run a mile. The woman leans heavily on the hobbit who is struggling to keep her upright.

”That was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!” Dori yells. ”It’s not natural, that! The woman must have a curse over her. A black curse. Same as that blasted monster.”

”Calm down, Master Dori,” Gandalf smiles at him. ”Lady Saaga is gifted, not cursed. And she has tamed the beast and guaranteed us a safe place to spend the night. We should be thanking her, not accusing her of dark arts.”

”But there _is_ something dark about the bear, Gandalf,” Saaga actually agrees with Dori now that she finally has found the correct language. ”I only spoke to Beorn for a minute and even I could feel it. There was _so much rage_ that even I felt it’s influence.” The northern woman pulls her cape tighter around her and holds on for her hands are badly shaking. ”I wanted to run after him and help him rip the orcs apart with my bare hands and teeth.”

Fíli and Kíli are raising their eyebrows in unison and share worried looks. That _really_ doesn't sound like Saaga. But from her looks just a second ago, they cannot argue with her claim.

”Beorn has lost many things in his life,” Gandalf explains gently. ”A rage such as his does not come out of nowhere. It is a curse of a long, solitary life that was forced upon him. Come now, we should make way for the house before our host changes his mind.”

Bilbo grasps Saaga’s bandaged hand into his own and gratefully the woman smiles down at him. The hobbit is like a small beacon of light in the darkness of the night, leading and comforting. They make way to their lodgings, the two warrior brothers following protectively close behind.

”I’m sorry if I scared you.”

The hobbit startles and seems surprised by her soft words. His face twists in confusion and a short, nervous laugh escapes him.

”No, no, it’s fine. You saved us all. It was remarkable, really.”

Saaga shakes her head, other hand still gripping her cape with white knuckles. ”I almost attacked Thorin. I wanted to. Can you believe it?”

”You did look a bit… feral, if you don't mind me saying.”

Saaga groans and can’t help but face-palm herself. She drags her hand across her face.

”Unbelievable.”

The doors of the house are massive and Glóin bolts it after them just in case. When they turn around to actually take a proper look at the house they soon realize that all the furniture inside seems to belong to a giant.

”Our host is Beorn,” Gandalf tells them. ”He is a skin-changer. Sometimes he takes a form of a huge black bear and sometimes he is a great strong man. I have always found the bear to be more unpredictable one.” The wizard eyes Saaga with a small smile. ”It seems that I was mistaken.”

The woman shrugs carelessly. There are huge black circles under her eyes and she looks altogether world-weary. To Saaga’s surprise it is Dwalin who comes to stand at her side, face determined. Even Thorin raises a eyebrow at that but turns away before his face can betray any other emotion.

”You should get some sleep.”

Saaga looks at the warrior from under her bangs.

”I’m fine.”

She can see Dwalin’s gritting his teeth together. It is sweet of him to worry but Saaga is not in the mood. She is glad she had apparently gained Dwalin's favor with that crazy trick just now but she didn't feel like having him hover over her.

”You should still sleep.”

”I sleep when everyone else sleeps. Stop fretting, I’m fine.”

” _Fret_ -?!” Dwalin ends his own shout and shakes his head, storming off. Saaga watches him go with a small smile. It was so easy to see what makes the warrior tick that it should have been illegal. Saaga can’t help but feel exhausted though. Dwalin was right, she should definitely get some sleep. It was like all her energy had been used by her brains leaving behind only feelings of tiredness, grumpiness and plain hunger.

”Everyone, find your beds,” Thorin orders, ”eat something and sleep. It is a rare chance for all. Let’s not waste it.”

Dwalin, to Saaga’s amusement, points an accusing finger at her. ”You too, crazy lady.”

”Aye, aye, captain,” Saaga smirks. She even dares to mock-salute him.

When they all lower their bags on the floor, most of them stretching and finding places to sleep at, Saaga goes to find Nori. When she does find him, she offers the long hunting-knife back despite the confused look in the dwarf's green eyes.

”Thank you for borrowing it to me,” Saaga says.

”Keep it. I have this nagging feeling that you will be happy to have it in the future.”

Swallowing, Saaga looks at the knife, curling her fingers over the handle. She had been hoping Nori would say that. 

”Are you sure?”

”I was sure few hours ago,” Nori snorts at her, ”and I am sure still. Even more sure after your reckless behavior just now. Take it, lady Saaga. If as nothing else then as an apology for my little brother’s actions a few days ago.”

”Oh, that silly Ori,” Saaga mutters with fond smile. ”It was an accident. There is nothing to apologize for.”

”Take it still,” Nori encourages with a crooked smirk, ”and maybe Ori will forgive himself as well.”

”You are surprisingly manipulative,” Saaga whispers with a quiet laugh. Nori shrugs. Ori and Dori are trying very hard to cover up the fact that they are staring at them rather nosily, but to their annoyance they were too far to actually hear anything.

”You learn many things when you must.”

Saaga nods solemnly at the thief. If she was to stay here in Middle-earth then she needed to learn such things as well. Saaga was very keen on staying alive after all.

”We beggars can’t be choosers,” the woman whispers sadly, feeling the reality sink in.

Nori could take offense at her words. He really could but thank god he doesn’t, and instead just lays his scarred hand on the northerner’s shoulder.

”You’ll be fine.”

Saaga wasn't so sure if she would be, but the woman nods anyway and graces Nori with a short-lived smile. 

”Think you could teach me how to pick a lock one day? Never know when it comes in handy.”

It's a half-joke but her eagerness to learn makes Nori's expression tighten, a strange look flashing in his eyes, and on that second Saaga has an enlightenment.

Nori was a  _thief._ Of course Saaga had known this from the start - that was what others called him sometimes, like it was _a nickname_  - but she hadn't really understood the real meaning of the word. Nori was a  _thief_ and that meant lying, manipulating and stealing and it wasn't the Robin Hood-kind of stealing either, it was  _a job._ It was his  _profession._ How many times had Saaga seen Nori snatch a piece of bread and eat it on his own, away from everyone else as if he was expecting it to get ripped out of his hands? How many times had Saaga seen Nori flinch away from someone's touch without realizing he had done it and that it was  _strange_ behavior? And now, when Saaga looked at his blank face she couldn't help but wonder how many times had Nori been caught in his life. How many times had he been beaten up for that?

How many times has Nori had to pick the lock of his own cell door? Would Saaga have to do the same some time in the future?

Swallowing, Saaga turns her gaze away from Nori's, letting it rest on the floor. "If you don't want to teach me, it's no problem. I'm sorry."

Saaga doesn't really know for what she was apologizing for. Because she had asked Nori to teach her his secrets? Because she felt sorry for him? Because she felt bad about being worried about being turned  _into_ Nori? Because right now it seemed that that was what future had in hold for her.

"I'll teach you if you wish for it. If you really need me to," Nori says finally, "but as long as you have a purpose in you life, I suggest you keep clinging onto it. Life of a thief is not easy. It's filled with meaningless fights, and more blood than most can stomach, and pain, and... and things I would rather not voice aloud. As long as you can keep out of it, do so."

They stare at each other solemnly and Saaga almost feels ashamed that she had asked.  _Almost._

"Until then," she says sadly with a bittersweet smile. For now she was safe with the company, but afterwards... 

"Until then," Nori agrees quietly and returns to Ori's and Dori's side after a one last look at Saaga. The girl herself stands there for a while, bathing in self-pity, before she gathers herself and follows Nori's example at trying to find a bed. There was no reason to worry right now. There was a disturbingly vast amount of monsters that wanted to eat her here in Middle-earth, so with some luck she would never have to face such a day when she would have to choose between stealing and starving. Best keep it out of her mind for now.

Saaga breaths slowly through her nose and takes a look around the cottage.

Fíli and Kíli are huddled close on hays and Bilbo next to them. Gandalf claims Beorn’s huge bed for himself and Thorin stays close to the brothers. Actually, all the families have huddled close to one another and suddenly Saaga wasn't sure where she should lie down. Most of the best spots have been claimed by snoring dwarves or farm-animals that Beorn apparently wants to keep inside his house. It was painfully clear that this place hadn't seen woman's touch in ages.

”What are you still doing up?” Dwalin grunts at Saaga, clearly annoyed, and it makes the woman roll her eyes towards the ceiling. She turns around to face him.

”I’m looking for a place to sleep.”

”Come here,” the man grumbles and takes a hold of the scruff of Saaga’s neck, forcing her forward. To her surprise Dwalin has stolen one of Beorn’s pillows, probably for himself, but offers it now to Saaga.

”Empty potato-sacks are soft. Now sleep.”

”You’re so demanding,” Saaga sulks and takes her place on the floor.

”Just because you’re so stubborn.”

”Oh, hush. You like it and you know it.”

Dwalin just snorts at her. ”Did you eat?”

”Didn’t have time to.”

There is a carrot pushed into her hands and Saaga eyes it suspiciously like there is a chance it’s poisoned.

”Eat, then sleep,” Dwalin grunts and turns to leave.

”Hey, Dwalin,” Saaga whispers and cracks a small smile at the gruff warrior, ”thanks, big guy.”

”Shut your gob and go to sleep. My lady.”

The last part follows a bit too late to sound entirely genuine. Saaga huffs from amusement and when her head sinks into the pillow, a smile still plays on her lips. She takes a bite of her carrot, hoping not to disturb anyone with her munching and crunching. Dwalin had been right, the material of the potato-sacks is comfortable enough and soon Saaga is already half-asleep, carrot falling off the side of her mouth.

Before the woman loses consciousness there is one puzzled thought in her head.

_’You’ll be fine.’_

Had that been a compliment or not?

 

* * *

  

Saaga awakes next morning troubled by a terrible headache. She has entwined herself into one big potato-sack-knot and her face is half buried into her stinky pillow. With a groan she raises to her knees, shaking her head slowly as if trying to shake off sleepiness. Drowsily the small woman smacks her dry tongue and looks around. Everyone else seems to be awake because they are nowhere in sight. Grudgingly Saaga swipes her hair behind her ears and rises to her aching feet. She can hear the familiar voices of Gandalf and Thorin from the next room so the natural things to do is to head there.

”-and there she is! Finally awake,” Gandalf exclaims to Saaga’s utter confusion. She has never heard the wizard sound as nervous as he does now, maybe excluding last night. The company members around the breakfast table have also turned to look at her, their postures tense and eyes alert. Bofur was tugging his braids and Kíli looked like there were ants in his pants. 

”What’s going on?” Saaga manages to say before a huge yawn splits her face. She stretches and her joints pop with a satisfying sound that make her groan. ”Have we got any breakfast?”

Someone’s hand appears in her field of vision, offering an apple. Someone's huge hand. Probably the biggest hand the woman has ever seen during her entire life. Comically her brown eyes widen into the size of dinner plates when she stares at the said hand, gaze slowly trailing upwards. The man’s arm was as thick as a tree trunk and heavily muscled. It looked like he could squeeze that apple and it would be enough to make it burst.

”Oh,” Saaga manages faintly when her gaze reaches the man’s face. She takes a stumbling step back, steadying herself on a doorpost.

Beorn was furry everywhere. There is hair on his arms, chest, chin and of course on his head. His eyebrows are so bushy and long that they line nicely alongside with his hairline. This time his eyes are not owl-yellow but more brownish in color. If she would have to describe them to someone, Saaga would say they are amber. All in all, the bear-man looked fierce and feral even in his human form.

”Apple?”

”Uh,” Saaga squeaks.

_Brilliant. Very informative._

The woman hesitantly accepts the offered apple and under watchful eyes of Beorn, she takes a nervous bite. Hopefully this wasn't some spin-off from Snow White. The dwarves were better-looking though, Snow White would be jealous. 

The apple is delicious; sweet and a little sour, just the way Saaga likes it. Nodding in approval, still a big bundle of nervousness, the dark haired woman smiles a tight smile up to the huge man. This whole time he had just been looking down at her expectantly.

”It’s good,” Saaga manages with mouth full of fruit, little bit of juice dripping down her chin. She wipes it on her sleeve and sniffs, her nose crinkling at the movement. Beorn grunts and turns his back which acts a cue for her to sneak to the table. Saaga takes a seat next to Gandalf, her eyes wide in incredulous, wordless question. The wizard just raises an eyebrow and one shoulder at her, looking just as lost as she does.

”Eat,” Beorn grunts and Saaga realizes that the others have probably been waiting for her. The food on the table is completely untouched and everyone is sitting around it like statues. When their eyes turn expectantly to her direction, Saaga sighs and takes a piece of bread first. Only after that does anyone dare to touch their food.

”Why didn’t you wake me up?” Saaga asks with a whisper, ripping the bread in smaller pieces.

”Beorn thought you looked tired last night and wanted to give you a chance to sleep as long as you liked,” the grey wizard explains.

”Oh,” Saaga breathes out, shooting a worried glance towards the big man from the corner of her eye. "That's nice. And creepy. Jeez, this whole things makes me sweat like a whore in a church."

Gandalf's eyebrow twitches but that's the only reaction her words bring forth. Shame, Saaga would have loved to see him splutter.

Heavy steps seem to shake the whole table as Beorn walks next to her and pours milk into a huge wooden pint. Really, huge: it’s the size of Saaga's head. No, bigger actually. The milk creates a whooshing white waterfall as it falls down. Saaga has to literally look straight upwards to catch Beorn’s eyes when she smiles shyly as a thank you, putting all her nonexistent womanly-charms in use. Beorn’s face remains inexpressive but his teeth flash behind his beard. Saaga wonders if that was supposed to be a smile. It might as well have been a grimace for all she knows.

”Eat, little gnome.”

At that Saaga blinks, her smile faltering and feeling totally confused. She chews her bread slowly. ”Well, this is certainly the first time anyone has called me _that_.”

”You look like one,” the bear-man informs her with a deep purr. ”Your hair is like a bird-nest, eyes brown as the earth itself, and you speak the language of nature.”

Thoughtfully Saaga hums at him, eyebrows furrowed. She doesn’t exactly feel insulted because she does probably look like a forest-creature of some kind with her miss-matched clothes and messy hair. While Saaga remains calm, Fíli and Kíli are sharing worried glances, and Thorin eyes Beorn and Saaga just as tensely. Gandalf looks antsy as well, like Beorn is about to rip her head off her shoulders. Saaga can’t tell why they are so incredibly jumpy as she can read no signs of violence from Beorn.

”Why is a Man-child traveling with dwarves?” Beorn asks her. ”Did they force you?”

Baffled, Saaga almost chokes on a piece of bread and proceeds to smack her chest a few times, clearing her throat. Gandalf looks at her with serious face and she can almost see a sweat-drops forming on his wrinkled forehead. Apparently, everything was depending on her answer.

”What? Of course not, they have been absolute gentlemen!”

”Are you sure, little gnome?” The feral man growls and looks at her with searching eyes. ”They are dwarves after all.”

”I’m sure.”

”If you’d like I could kill them all right now and nobody would ever know,” Beorn says with a completely straight face.

Saaga can feel her jaw hanging open. Hopefully none of the bread falls out. If it does, she's too distracted to care. Her huge eyes stare at Beorn in shock. ”Please, do _not_ ,” Saaga stresses to the relief of her friends. ”I am very fond of them all and I would very much prefer it if they were to stay as they are.”

Beorn hums, continuing to serve milk as if he hadn’t just asked her opinion about the massacre of their table-mates. ”I hear no lies in your voice. But you should choose your friends wisely, little one. Dwarves are _greedy_ ,” he emphasizes the last words, his deep voice heavy with disgust.

In daze Saaga meets the dark blue eyes of Thorin over the table. He looks angry but voices no arguments against Beorn’s claim about their race. His burdened eyes turn away from the woman’s, thick strands of hair falling to cover his face. Saaga swallows with great difficulties, dry bread stuck in her throat. The ugly realization blooms in her chest about her dwarven companions: they really weren't perfect. Of course Saaga knew this from before too, she had seen their nature in those first days they had journeyed together but somehow the nights by the flaming fires, their bubbling laughter and kind eyes had made her forget. Saaga could not be blind. She could be trusting but what Beorn was trying to say was that she shouldn't choose not to see the dangers that came by traveling with them. 

”And most dwarves,” Beorn continues coldly, ”offer desire as justification for their crimes. They are consumed by it.”

The dwarves of the company chew on quietly, eyes cast on the wooden table, not saying a word. Some of them even stop eating altogether, staring at the wooden surface with pale faces. A grim mood rests upon them all. Saaga thinks that perhaps Beorn was being too cruel. It wasn't as if the race of Men was any better. 

”And they are blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own.”

”But they are also so very brave,” Saaga says tentatively, ”and funny, warm and friendly. They _burn_ with passion and when it is directed to the right things, I think they can be wonderful.”

The woman can feel her cheeks warming at her admission. But it was the truth and as it had sounded like Beorn could hear lies in speech, it had felt like the right thing to say. If the dwarves wouldn't rise to their own defense then Saaga would do it for them. Fíli and some of the others raise their heads to look at her in surprise. Gandalf is smiling warmly at her, looking like a proud grandpa.

”Heed my words, little one,” Beorn tells her seriously, ”for when they betray you and disappoint you - because they will, it is in their very nature - my door shall always remain open.”

Saaga stays uncharacteristically quiet, looking at the undisturbed surface of her milk pint. She then chuckles without any trace of humor, her linen covered hand wrapping around the mug-handle. The dwarves might be flawed but that does not cease them from being her  _friends._ Saaga herself certainly wasn't any better.

”Do you honestly think that I care so little for them that betraying me would make any difference?” Saaga turns her serious brown eyes to meet Beorn’s. She chooses her words carefully, not wanting to dismiss the large man's words as nonsense but not wanting to agree upon them either. ”When I had no home Thorin promised to protect me. When I was cold and alone and lost, Fíli and Kíli held my hand. When those hands were battered and bloody Óin healed them for me.” Saaga smiles melancholically, like a proper Finn but there is true warmth in her smile as well. ”For that and many other things, I am forever in their debt.”

The dwarves look ready to burst into arguments at that but they do not dare. Their jaws tick furiously, biting back all the words. Thorin shifts on his bench uncomfortably and Fíli and Kíli are shaking their heads vigorously at her. Bofur also looks like he wants to voice his own disagreements. Saaga hopes her words do not bring them guilt for the way things had evolved during those early days of the adventure. That was in the past and long forgotten.

There falls a long, thoughtful and all in all tense silence, as Beorn eyes the woman solemnly.

”Thorin Oakenshield,” he finally growls at their king to his surprise. ”What do you need?”

”Ponies,” Thorin answers without hesitation, ”and food.”

”I will give you everything you want if you leave this woman here.”

_Excuse me?_

Gandalf startles at that, shifting on his seat as does Saaga. The dwarves look confusedly at each other and at the huge bear-man, their eyes wide and worried. You could hear a needle drop in this house.

”We’re not leaving Saaga here!” Kíli finally finds his voice and shakes his head incredulously and Fíli next to him is nodding in agreement. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur look determined to stand with the Durin brothers and Dwalin’s hand is already sneaking towards his battle-axe.

”Lady Saaga is our translator,” Gandalf tries to patiently explain to Beorn. ”I’m afraid your request is impossible. We have a grave need for her skills.”

Saaga swallows nervously, her toes curling in her boots. If Thorin decides to leave her here, what will become of her? Will she be forced to become Beorn's slave? His trophy-wife? Unconsciously Saaga bites her nails, dread making her tremble in fear. She turns to look at Thorin pleadingly, just like everyone else. He has the final word as the king and leader of the company. The gruff dwarf looks grim, his lips in a thin line that are hidden behind his hands.

Thorin isn’t exactly bursting with disagreeing arguments as Saaga had hoped. But she can understand it: exchanging a useless human female for ponies that guarantee their way to the forest and for much needed food is a good option. Some could even say that Thorin would be a fool not to accept.

”I’m afraid that is an exchange I cannot agree to,” he finally growls and looks challengingly at the large man. ”I gave her my word and I shall keep it.”

Saaga almost faints in relief. Damn Thorin for taking his sweet time coming to important decisions. Others company members relax at his words as well.

”Good but next time, do not hesitate with the answer,” Beorn says and now everyone is looking at him incredulously, ”for if you had agreed, I would have never let little gnome leave with you.” He turns to cut some more bread. ”And none of you would have made it out of here alive.”

 

* * *

 

The ponies Beorn loans them are sturdy and sure-footed, not to mention absolutely gorgeous with their black and white blotches of color. Saaga scratches her own at its neck, a wide smile stretched on her face.

”Who is gorgeous?” She whispers. ”You are! Yes, you are!”

She cannot help but laugh when the pony tries to eat the helm of her shirt.

”Maybe it likes the taste of a Man-child,” Dwalin informs her from the top of his own ride, making Nori snicker.

”Don’t be ridiculous.” Saaga quirks a smile at the warrior before heaving herself in to the saddle. It has been a while since she has ridden a horse but she hopes it will be like riding a bike: learn it once, know it always.

Besides, now Saaga looked like she actually belonged into this suicide squad. Yesterday, Beorn had taken one look at her creased and entirely too large clothing before barking out an order. It had been without words, more like a dog bark really which had almost startled Saaga out of her skin. Then to her shock the animals had come. There had been mice: grey, little furry things carrying things like comb and gloves and ribbons (probably for her hair which Saaga kindly declined). There had been dogs, wagging their tails vigorously and yelping in excitement when Beorn had eyed the clothes hanging from their jaws. A cat had jumped on Saaga's lap without hesitation and started purring loud enough to be mistaken for a motorcycle engine, all the while dangling a pipe from it's mouth. That had been the biggest shock of all: Saaga had never been fond of these small fur-balls of destruction and usually they could sense that about the Finn.

That's right. She had been more shocked about the appearance of the cat rather than the pipe it was smoking.

"Beorn, this is really unnecessary. I am fine with what I have," Saaga had argued. She had nothing to pay Beorn back with and felt unjust for just  _taking_ things. Even if they were offered out of free will. 

"I told them to bring extras," Beorn had grunted, fingering the shirt he had chosen for the little gnome. "We're not giving anything we're not fully prepared to part with."

In the end Beorn or the animals weren't going to listen to her empty arguments. Saaga had been ushered to change into a rough undershirt that by its color reminded her of the sand routes at home which meant her green elven tunic got jammed at the bottom of her new backpack and her borrowed clothes returned to their original owners. On top of the undershirt there was now a heavier shirt, much more to her size than Ori's shirt had been, as well as smaller pants that were a relief. If someone thought wearing huge clothes from day to day was comfortable, they were utterly _wrong_. At least with the lifestyle Saaga had ended up living. Quietly the woman had wondered why Beorn even owned clothing so small but the man's tired look had zipped Saaga's lips together, questions locked behind her front teeth. Her boots were allowed to stay (elven workmanship earned a sharp look from Beorn) but fluffy and warm fur pieces were arrayed to circle her shins like gaiters, right over the stems. They were secured in place by strips of leather and in awe Saaga realized that Beorn was mimicking her companions's clothing to match hers. 

He had been amazingly successful in this. As a last, finishing touch Beorn had offered her something that reminded Saaga of a chopstick but was actually a bit shorter in length. She had raised an eyebrow at the item while Beorn had waved towards her head. 

"Puts that nest in place somehow. I never quite managed it but maybe you will."

With amused smile Saaga had combed her hair into a messy bun, sticking the hairpin in place. It was truly better this way, not having to brush loose hair out of her eyes all the time. With this clothing Saaga felt like she was wearing an armor and made her feel different, stand up straighter and walk with more stride in her steps. Nowadays, Saaga walked with purpose. She could do anything. She just needed to throw her cloak on and she was ready to rock.

The next day, everyone else was now mounting their ponies in the sunlight, Thorin especially looking as majestic as ever. How such a short man could look so majestic on _a pony_ escaped them all. Not even Saaga in her new clothing could compare but she did get a few approving quirks of eyebrows at her new wardrobe. 

”Gandalf,” the dwarf-king shouts at the wizard who is still conversing with their host. ”We are losing daylight.”

Finally Gandalf approaches them and immediately they can see that a gloom has settled on his features. Whatever the two of them had been talking about cannot have been good.

”We make for the Elven road that passes through Mirkwood. Let us be quick on our feet, the darkness is approaching.”

Claim makes them swallow and urge the ponies forward. Saaga is the only one to turn look back at Beorn to wave a goodbye. However to her confusion, the man has already disappeared from their sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from Finnish to English:
> 
> (1) ”Mitä helvettiä, Gandalf?” - "What the hell, Gandalf?"  
> (2) ”Tuo teki ihan helvetin kipeää!” - "That hurt like hell!"
> 
> Pardon our language, we curse a lot.


	9. Sehnsucht

**Sehnsucht:**   _The inconsolable yearning in the human heart for something it cannot name._

 

Mirkwood comes to them like a black wall. The trunks of the trees are grey and mattered with mold, leaves so dark green that they almost look black. Few dead pines, colored silver by age form a shape that cannot be mistaken for anything else than a gate. Gandalf has ventured next to it and turns to look at them over his shoulder, a shadow upon his features.

”Here lies our path through Mirkwood: the Elven road.”

”There has been no sign of the orcs. We have luck on our side,” Dwalin says, clearly pleased and heaves himself out of the saddle. Gandalf does not agree or disagree but looks a lot like someone who knows more than they do.

”Set the ponies loose,” he orders. ”Let them return to their master.”

Grudgingly they do as they are told, not really wanting to set off their precious means of transportation. The company has no choice however, under the watchful eye of the wizard.

Saaga comes to stand next to Bilbo, both of them looking at the forest suspiciously.

”What can you see?” The woman asks curiously, leaning down.

”This forest… feels sick. As if a disease lies upon it.”

As if answering the little creature’s words, the forest groans and creaks at them, sending their skin on goosebumps.

”I agree,” Saaga confirms softly. ”The forests lay upon our lands in the North, covering them like thick blanket. I’m used to them. But never before have I seen a forest that feels as hostile as this one.”

”Is there no way around it?” Bilbo turns to asks Gandalf hopefully.

”Not unless we go 200 miles north. Or twice that distance south.”

Bilbo and Saaga both sigh defeatedly, looking at each other and worrying. Despite that, they secure their backpacks on their shoulders and tighten their capes. It seems that they all have a long walk ahead of them. Nori smacks one pony on its blade and soon they are all running off and out of their sight.

”Not my horse," Gandalf yells at Nori who has turned to set it loose as well. ”I need it!”

The dwarves, Saaga and Bilbo turn to look at the grey wizard in surprise. The Hobbit is the first one to catch on with what is going on.

”You’re not leaving us, are you?”

”I would not do this unless I had to,” Gandalf says and actually looks like he is telling the truth. That has probably been what has been weighing him down their whole trip to Mirkwood. The old man looks at them all but decides that Bilbo is the one needing encouraging words the most.

”You have changed, Bilbo Baggins. You’re not the same Hobbit as the one who left the Shire.” He is looking down at Bilbo with approving eyes but it merely makes Bilbo shift nervously. The Hobbit swallows, blinking rapidly.

”I was going to tell you,” Bilbo rasps out. ”I… found something in the goblin tunnels.”

Saaga, who has been eavesdropping on their conversation, sneaks a glance at the pair from under her bangs. Her brown eyes meet with Thorin who seems to be listening in on them as well.

”Found what?” Gandalf asks, eyes squinting.

Bilbo looks ready to burst. His lips move, trying to form words and he is shifting nervously on his furry feet.

”What did you find?”

”My courage,” the Hobbit finally blurts out and it makes Saaga turn away so they can’t see her wide smile. Thorin shakes his head as well, lips curved slightly upwards. Bilbo was so very adorable sometimes.

”Good, well that’s good,” Gandalf agrees and smiles. ”You’ll need it.”

Now that makes Bilbo pause and furrow his eyebrows, mouth slightly open. If that had been meant as encouragement it didn't do the trick. As if agreeing, the skies open up and send rain down upon them and it makes them all grimace and throw their hoods over their heads.

”I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe,” Gandalf orders. He turns to look at Thorin seriously. ”Do not enter that mountain without me. Keep my burglar and the lady safe.” The wizard is mounting his horse once more, still speaking. ”This is not the Greenwood of old. There is a stream in the woods that carries a dark enchantment. Do not touch the water,” he stresses, ”cross only by the stone bridge. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It’ll seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”

Saaga looks at the others but they seems just as confused by Gandalf’s declaration as she feels. The woman merely shrugs. Whatever the wizard's words meant, they would cross that bridge when they came to it. There was no use in worrying about it yet.

”You must stay on the path, _do not leave it_! If you do, you’ll never find it again. And Saaga,” Gandalf sigs almost exasperatedly, "do try to stay out of trouble."

There is nothing to do about it as Gandalf leaves their sight, galloping with a clear destination in his mind so they turn to take their first step into the strange and unknown as well. Saaga hurries after Bilbo, instinctively reluctant to let her small friend out of her sight.

 

* * *

 

They soon realized that the whole forest was alive. Not with animals and birds like a normal forest, no; it is the trees that seem to talk to one another. They groan and creak, roots trying to trip them in every corner and black leaves swatting their faces as if telling them to get out of here. Air was heavy and misty, forming water droplets on their brows and upper lips, sneaking into their clothing and making them feel damp all the time.

Every night when they stopped to eat and rest the darkness around them started moving. The animals were still missing but instead they could hear whispers and quiet laughter, twigs snapping under something’s small feet and eyes glittering for a second in their campfire’s light before disappearing again. It was nerve wrecking. The company members had no choice but to merely huddle closer to their fire and each other, sharing warmth and comfort.

"Now  _those_ are proper elves," Saaga had muttered and at the others' quirked eyebrows she had explained further, "When I met elves in Rivendell I was real confused. In the North the folklore tells that elves are tiny little men, not bigger than small children, that come and steal away your first-born child in exchange of their services."

It had been one of those rare nights when something managed to prompt a laugh out of the company members.

Ori was probably having the worst of it. He was always alert and shaking, his young face pale and steps more unsure each day. During wolf’s hours he usually jumped up straight as if waking from a terrible nightmare. Dori and Nori tried to help him but they couldn't really do anything against bad dreams. Also Glóin and Óin were grumpier than ever, even towards each other. They bickered and shouted only to return to sit next to each other in sullen silence. The only thing pushing them forward and stopping them from turning around altogether was Thorin. He was as determined as ever, his wide back all Saaga looked at most days. He went forward like a frigging tank and nothing could stand in his way.

But as the days grew ever darker and nights ever longer, they could see Thorin’s strength leaving him as well. Mirkwood had turned grey and misty instead of dark and black but it wasn't an improvement. Now it was just hazy all around the clock, day and night. Most of the time they have no idea which it even was as they only ventured deeper into the woods.

They have been at it for almost a week and Saaga was at her snapping point. Their water was running low as was their food. Rationing dinners didn't feel good for anyone. 

Tonight Saaga was chewing sparingly on a piece of dried meat while watching over her friend's sleeping forms. The dwarves had been so exhausted that they had agreed almost immediately when Saaga offered to take the night-watch instead of one of them. Dori, Nori and Ori are huddled at the root of a tree, Ori secured between them. They are snoring softly like a weird choir, everyone on note. Kíli and Fíli preferred to sleep close to one another as well, heads touching and their sock-covered feet pointed towards the warmth of their small fire. The only thing breaking their calmness are their hands, laying readily on top of their sword-handles.

Sighing, Saaga throws a few more logs into the fire, stroking it quietly and sending small sparks flying in the air where they turn into ash and rain on her hair. Just for a second Saaga closes her eyes and pretends that it is snowing, that she is at the park near her house, breathing in the cool autumn air. The illusion is broken by the smell of burning wood and smoke, unfortunately. 

The forest was just as dark as the night around them. Everything in it was hidden from sight and it had made them all nervous. Now that Saaga was the only one awake the voices seemed even louder, the whispers seemed to come from somewhere close and she could hear all kinds of cracks and crackles from the woods.

Saaga is startled by Thorin who lies few meters away from her. The dwarf groans quietly as if in pain. Puzzled, the woman crawls a bit closer to have a better look. She cocks her head, brown eyes squinting in low light. All color has left Thorin’s face and his eyes seem to have sunken deep into the black circles that run around them. The dwarf’s skin is sweaty, fingers and eyelids twitching and breath coming out in erratic huffs. He convulses, muscles and veins at his neck seeming ready to burst.

”Thorin,” Saaga whispers, trying not to wake the others. ”Thorin, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Her words have no effect on him. Irritated, Saaga moves to lay her hand on his wide shoulder but hesitates at the last moment. Instead, the woman grabs a wooden branch and proceeds to poke the king with it on his chest.

”Thorin! Wake up.”

The effect is instantaneous.

”No!” Thorin hisses, waking with a startle and slashing her stick in half with a knife he pulls from the depths of his coat.

Just a little bit amused and partly shocked, Saaga turns the tip of the stick towards her face, looking at it studiously. She allows Thorin a second to pull himself together. The king’s breathing slows to normal rhythm and he lowers his weapon, looking appalled. Groaning, he then swipes thick strands of black hair off his face and swallows.

”Well,” Saaga starts with marvel in her words, ”I am very glad I decided to poke you with a stick instead of my arm.”

”A wise decision,” Thorin grunts and sheaths the said knife with a click. He hides his face behind his dirty hands. ”Why did you wake me?”

”You were having a nightmare,” Saaga informs him and returns to her original place next to the fire. ”I, for one, would always prefer to be woken up from nightmares as quickly as possible. Just for future reference.”

”Of course,” Thorin agrees, not really listening but staring into the depth of the forest instead. Smiling understandingly, Saaga leans her back against a tree trunk and lights her pipe. It was new of course, reserved for those rare moments when the old dwarves weren't watching her with disapproving eyes. She had gotten it from Beorn along with the gloves, socks and the comb.

”What were you dreaming about?” The woman coaxes as smoke swirls around her face. ”You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Thorin lowers his hands and stares into the fire. He looks tired to the bone.

”Did you dream about Azog? Of Khazad-dûm?”

”No,” Thorin admits quietly with rumbling voice. He seems to weight the woman with his gaze, his blue eyes dull. ”I dreamt of dragonfire.”

Patiently Saaga exhales the white smoke, looking through it at their king. There weren't really no deeper words with which she could comfort the dwarf but maybe just listening would be enough to ease his mind. That is all she could do as Saaga has nothing to compare Thorin’s experience with. Those dark strands of lightly curled hair fall to frame the king’s face and campfire creates deep shadows on it.

”Will you tell me about it?” Saaga asks hesitantly. She wonders if she was being rude but then decides that Thorin was direct enough to tell her to shut up if she was annoying him.

”I don’t know what there is to tell,” Thorin says, eyes flickering in flames. ”I just remember… the heat. The bright light and smell of burning flesh.”

Small hairs at the nape of Saaga’s neck stand up and she blinks, shiver passing through her. The woman might have bitten a piece too much for her to chew when she had asked Thorin to confide in her. Despite that, she cannot help her curiosity.

”What is Smaug like? You have seen the dragon, right?”

”Unfortunately, yes. Bofur put it quite nicely when he said ’think of furnace with wings’ to Master Baggins.”

”How would you put it? How would Thorin, King under the Mountain describe Smaug the Terrible?”

Thorin’s square jaw ticks and his irises become alight in the night, burning ice cold. His fingers rub against his arms as if he was unconsciously trying to comfort himself.

”He is destruction,” Thorin growls. ”He is gold-madness and death on four feet, his breath smelling of rotten bodies and eyes gleaming with joy of murder and wickedness. But those are not the things that I dream of.”

Respectfully Saaga lowers her pipe that she has forgotten to smoke. It burns at her fingertips.

”What do you dream of then?”

”Laughter,” Thorin snarls in low voice. ”I dream of its laughter as it slaughtered my people.”

What can anyone say after such confession? Saaga has no idea. She certainly had no words that could bring peace to Thorin. With a heavy heart, she hoped that one day the dwarf-king would find someone who was capable of that.

 

* * *

 

Days blur together in their memory, each turning ever hazier when the company members try to concentrate on them. What had they done yesterday? They had no idea. What day is it? How the hell would they know?

Saaga trips on a rock and falls down with a smack, straight on her face. Groaning, she curls in on herself and rises to her feet, the front of her cape and shirt wet. There were dead leaves in her hair and clothes and her knees ached from the impact.

”Saaga, you alright?”

It’s probably Kíli, going by the sound of his voice. Saaga takes deep breaths to distract herself from the pain and wipes the wet leaves off. Kíli’s worried face swims in her vision as if she was looking at him through water. ”I didn’t know there were two Kílis,” she tells him with great difficulties as her tongue feels like it has swollen double its size. There was white noise ringing in her ears.

”Hey, you alright?” Kíli is patting her cheek with way too much force than is needed, making her whole head boom like there was a bass in there. Saaga blocks his hand and wobbles on her feet. She is breathing heavily.

”I’m fine, let’s go.”

Kíli snorts at her like she has said something extremely funny and twirls around on his feet like a ballerina. His shoulder hits a tree in the corner and he curses in Khuzdûl, almost looking ready to start a fight with it. His fists are already up, ready to go.

”Who the hell puts a tree in the middle of a road?”

”Elf-logic”, Fíli suddenly snorts. Saaga has no idea from where he came from. Confused, the brown haired woman looks at him. Fíli looks back, blue eyes squinting.

”You know magic?” Saaga asks him, eyes almost crossing in bewilderment. She was having trouble seeing straight.

”The only magic I have,” Fíli bellows, throwing his muscled arms in the air, ”is down my trousers!” Then he hits the same tree Kíli had just a second ago. ”What kind of an idiot put a tree in the middle of a road?”

”Elf-logic”, Kíli answers automatically and sends them into a fit of giggles. Saaga scratches her temple, trying to focus.

_Something was not right._

”My head, it’s swimming!” Óin moans and steadies himself.

”Air,” Bofur is groaning, eyes closed and face turned upwards but still walking, ”I need air!”

”Hey, I found a bridge!”

Thankfully Kíli had voiced his observation out loud because otherwise they all would have most likely stumbled down from it in their confusion. Heads humming, the company gazes upon rocks that once formed a bridge which now probably lies at the bottom of the river. The stink of the black water was terrible too. It smelled about the same as a sewer with rotting stench of carcasses and dead leaves, mold and deep-water plants. The surface was as undisturbed as that of a mirror. To put it simplistically, the river looked sick.

”How are we supposed to cross it now?” Bilbo says more to himself than anyone else.

”We could try and swim it,” Bofur proposes and turns to look at the others with a raised eyebrow. 

Thorn shakes his head. He was trying to conceal the fact that he had to lean on a tree to steady himself. 

”Did you not hear what Gandalf said? A dark magic lies upon this forest. Waters of this stream are enchanted.”

”Well, I’m definitely feeling the magic,” Óin comments, shaking his head to clear it.

”Aye brother, agreed,” Glóin says.

”The water doesn’t look very enchanting to me”, Bofur confusedly looks at the murky waters, eyebrows still furrowed. If they are to stay in this forest for much longer they might permanently freeze in that position.

”We must find another way to cross.”

”Hey. Hey! There is a boat on the other side, can you see it?” Bilbo exclaims suddenly, pointing across the river. The dwarves and Saaga come to the shore to confirm Bilbo’s sighting.

”Keen eyes you have, Master Baggins,” Thorin smiles surprisingly fondly at the Hobbit. The fog must have gotten into his head too and Saaga has to hide her snigger as Bilbo blushes from the praise.

”But how do we get it here?” Glóin grumbles, pointing at the boat with his hammer. ”It’s all the way over there.”

”We could try and haul it here. If you have enough rope and something to act as an anchor, that is,” Saaga suggests, still rubbing her forehead in hopes that it makes the fuzziness disappear. ”It’s not that far away.”

Straight away Kíli and Fíli are on the task, a hammer acting as an anchor.

”You try it, Kíli”, Fíli suggests when they are done. ”Your aim is more often true than mine.”

It takes the young dwarf a few test throws but soon their plan succeeds and with a quiet cheer they pull the boat to their side of the shore.

”Lightest first, we need to be careful with how much it can hold in one go,” Thorin orders.

Dutifully Bilbo climbs to the boat first and when no signs of it being swallowed by the river appear, Saaga steps forward as well.

”Not you,” Thorin grunts, stopping her advance with his hand. ”It’s dangerous.”

Snorting, Saaga gives Thorin _the look_ and pushes his hand off.

”What was it about the promise of not treating me like I’m somehow vulnerable? Oh yeah, _you agreed on it_.”

Rolling her eyes at the king’s overprotective behavior she climbs into the boat next to Bilbo.

”We’ll go first,” she says firmly and grabs the oar.

”Saaga, I should be the one to-” Bilbo starts but shuts up at Saaga’s angry look.

”Do _not_ start.”

And so they go, slowly paddling their way across the dark river. They cross it without a problem and Saaga carefully arrays the oar back into the boat so that it doesn’t fall off even in accident. After few minutes of slow paddling, quiet cursing and careful leaps they all on the other side except for Bombur. The cook was simply too heavy to go with anyone else so he had been left with the honor of getting the whole boat to himself.

”Carefully now, **brother** ,” Bofur swallows as the boat hits shore. ”Wouldn’t want ya falling in.”

He should have knocked a tree after that.

Just as Bombur is taking a step out of the boat they are all startled by a sudden flash of white fur. The deer was fast as a rabbit in it’s steps, knocking Thorin down as it goes. Bilbo pulls Saaga away from it and she clutches the Hobbit’s shoulder for balance. Bombur is not as lucky. With a surprised shout his hands swing through the air when he falls backwards, his back hitting the boat and then falling straight into the river.

”No, Bombur!” Bofur cries and leaps to aid him, pulling him to the shore with the help of Bifur. When their grip on Bombur’s boots fail, they throw them aside to pull him from his legs. The deer was long gone by then.

Curiously the company leans over their cook, faces ashen white with fear and worry. Bombur wasn't moving.

”Make way! Give him some space! No, ditch that, give _me_ some room!” Óin roars, pushing them to the side.

There was nothing to be done. Bombur was unconscious and seemed happy to stay that way. There were no external wounds and he looked perfectly healthy but it seemed that he was just not waking up. The big dwarf was even snoring softly which quite frankly made the situation a bit annoying. They managed to build a stretcher for him from the stuff that they had with them and from the fallen branches of the trees. Bofur and Bifur agree to carry him, Fíli and Kíli assisting as they are the youngest and have most energy and strength.

It continues like this for three days. Even if they now have one hungry mouth less to feed they were still running low on food. Their water was finished yesterday but they managed to gather some during rain last night. All of Bombur’s pans and kettles were put to good use. Yesterday's rain seemed to have cleared the air somewhat, leaving them surprised with the sudden sharpness of their senses that had been dulled by magic. It was a nice break but it most likely would not last for long.

”I’m so hungry I could eat my own foot,” Kíli moans quietly as they walk, wary of Thorin hearing him whine. It would not go unpunished.

”And how would you get forwards after that? By crawling?” Saaga snorts at him, scrambling over a fallen tree trunk with no finesse whatsoever.

”You could carry me like Bombur.”

”Like the hell we would.”

Kíli shoots a amused look at her. Saaga merely rolls her eyes.

”Right, language. Sorry. I’m a bit cranky.”

”Who isn’t? I will never skip a meal _ever_ again.”

”Well, I’m glad you have learned something on this trip.”

”See? I’m not entirely hopeless.”

The woman huffs fondly at him and offers the young archer rest of her dried meat. It was a small piece, barely a mouthful but she offers it anyway.

”Are you serious?” Kíli exclaims with barely hidden greed, eyes staring at her hand like she is holding out the biggest diamond in the world.

”Take it, I have a little more left for myself.”

”If you say so!”

Happily Kíli throws the whole piece in his mouth in one go. He chews it like a giant piece of gum.

”Please, don’t choke on it. I don’t think Thorin would forgive me.”

Kíli probably tries to give her a witty answer of some kind but all that Saaga can hear is incomprehensible gibberish. Then he is yelled to come forth and take his place carrying Bombur. Kíli dashes past her with a cheery wave and Saaga watches him go, heart warming at the sight. At least all of them haven’t succumbed into depression.

”That was your last piece, wasn’t it?”

Fíli’s voice makes her jump in surprise and look over her shoulder guiltily.

”…no?”

”You’re such a bad liar.” The golden haired dwarf cracks a smile at his own words and Saaga answers it with one as well. Embarrassedly she heaves the backpack higher on her shoulder. It was getting scarily light.

”He was hungry.”

”Kíli is always hungry. You didn’t have to give him your last food.”

”I didn’t,” Saaga agrees, ”but I wanted to. He brings such good mood over the whole company and I am reluctant to see it change.” The northerner snickers. ”See? My reasons were completely selfish. No self-sacrifice involved. I'm evolving. Level up!”

”Yeah, you should probably stop with those,” Fíli notes with an exasperated huff.

Awkwardly they turn to look at each other from the corners of their eyes, walking now side by side.

”Sorry, that was uncalled for,” the dwarf mutters apologetically. He looked like he was banging his head against a tree inside his head.

”It’s fine. I do stupid things sometimes. I can handle the consequences.” A twinge of pain runs through Saaga's body when she thinks of the expression on Fíli’s face when she had fallen. The woman was lucky the dwarf had forgiven her at all.

”So do you like him then? Kíli?”

Startled, Saaga turns to look at Fíli with a incredulous look. Now _that_  was an unexpected question if any.

”Excuse me?”

”You heard.”

Confusedly Saaga tries to form words. She scratches her cheek, feeling lost.

”Uh.. I guess? I mean, not more than anyone else. Okay, maybe a little bit more than some but that’s just ’cause he is, like, really nice.”

Fíli is looking at her seriously. Saaga flushes.

”Jeez, not like _that_ ,” she clarifies.

That makes Fíli clear his throat, ”Right. I had to ask, you know? I’m his brother.”

”Of course,” Saaga says, her face transforming into a huge, teasing grin. ”Aww, were you worried for your baby-brother?”

”Shut up, Saaga,” Fíli grumbles and starts walking faster. Saaga follows him, laughing merrily.

”You were! Did you think this dangerous human female was going to seduce him and take him away from you?”

Fíli splutters at her cooing voice, ” _Seduce_ him? You can barely speak without tripping on your own words!”

”Oh darling,” Saaga smirks. ”I wouldn’t use words if I were to seduce someone.”

”I’m not listening!” Fíli says with determination, hands pointedly raising to cover his ears but he is smirking too widely to be entirely put off by her words and there was a soft hue lingering on his cheeks. And on top of it all, his mustache was twitching in embarrassment and it was  _adorable_. It was so very entertaining to see him swagger down the path, hands on his head. He looked ridiculous, to be honest.

”Or maybe,” Saaga whispers conspiringly as she leaps forward to walk backwards in front of her friend, ”you were worried I would leave you without love. Oh Fíli,” she croons, trying to flutter her eyelashes as theatrically as possible. ”I would never! You’re my absolute favorite but _don’t tell the others_.” She shoots a exaggerated wink at the golden haired dwarf.

”You’re insufferable,” Fíli is huffing and rolling his blue eyes but smiling so widely it looked like his face was about to split.

”And I think I’m fantastic but we all have our differences in opinion. Let’s just agree to disagree.”

”Absolutely intolerable,” Fíli is still muttering to himself but Saaga has already turned her back.

Their merry banter keeps Saaga's spirits up for the rest of the day. They continue to walk for a few more hours before they come to a place where the path seems a bit wider than normally. Thorin tells them they will be camping here tonight and without a word they all slump down, feeling entirely exhausted. It takes them a while before they manage to gather themselves and set on their tasks of building fire, cooking and dealing night-watch turns. Bombur is laid carefully near the fire and covered with a blanket as Bofur and Bifur rub his cold hands, trying to get some warmth into him.

Darkness comes as quickly as always. It curls around them like a thick mist, its cold tendrils sneaking beneath their clothes and making them shiver. In silence, they all sit and lie around their campfire, munching slowly on their small portions of food. Finally getting enough, with a loud clatter that pierces the said silence, Bofur puts down his plate.

”This is terrible. We all look like somebody has died,” he hastily looks towards his sleeping brother, ”which no one has.”

”We all knew the path through Mirkwood was not going to be a merry journey,” Glóin grunts.

”That doesn’t mean we have to look like we’re smelling orc’s behinds!” Bofur exclaims and turns his hopefully glittering eyes towards Bilbo.

”Would ya sing us a song of yer people, Master Baggins? I swear, I could find find cheerier folk in the graveyard than in our company right now. Save us from this misery, please?”

”Oh please, Bilbo!” Saaga joins in and puts her empty plate away, excited for a distraction. ”Sing us a song!”

To Bilbo’s confusion the others agree loudly as well. He raises his hands in defense. ”Okay, okay! Just give me a minute.”

Saaga shares excited glances with Ori who has finally gathered his courage and taken a seat next to Saaga. For the whole duration of their evening, the woman has had the pleasure of seeing him sketch Dwalin in his notebook and he had shoved her drawings of the others as well. Not to mention that Ori had promised to draw her a portrait as soon as he was able to and it had made Saaga more than excited. She hadn't seen a mirror in weeks (months?) and she had no idea what she looked like these days. Not good, that was certain, but she remained curious nonetheless.

”Alright, I have one that might fit the occasion," Bilbo clears his throat and starts with a steady voice that reveals him to be a quite good singer.

 _Roads go ever ever on,_  
_Over rock and under tree,_  
_By caves where never sun has shone,_  
_By streams that never find the sea;_  
_Over snow by winter sown,_  
_And through the merry flowers of June,_  
_Over grass and over stone,_  
_And under mountains in the moon._

 _Roads go ever ever on_  
_Under cloud and under star,_  
_Yet feet that wandering have gone_  
_Turn at last to home afar._  
_Eyes that fire and sword have seen_  
_And horror in the halls of stone_  
_Look at last on meadows green_  
_And trees and hills they long have known._

His last note ends with a approving cheer by his friends and Saaga claps her hands together so hard it hurts. She would have liked to laugh merrily with her new companion but Ori is furiously scribbling down the song and Saaga has no heart to disturb him.

”That wasn’t actually half bad!” Fíli laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with laughter. He is still chewing on the leftovers of his dinner.

”Well done, Master Baggins!” Bofur agrees. ”Who is next?”

”We do have a lady in out company,” Balin says warmly, turning his eyes towards Saaga who is sitting at the other side of the fire. ”Would you grace us with a song, my lady?”

”Uh, I’m not really a singer,” Saaga mumbles nervously, her throat suddenly feeling too tight.

”Oh please, Saaga! Sing to us!”

”Just one song!”

”Look, I’m really quite terrible at it. My voice just isn’t made for singing; I can’t even stay in tune.”

There is a hand laid on her arm and Saaga turns to meet the pleading eyes of Ori. He is making his best innocent-dwarfling face and damn it, it was working.

”Please, my lady. It would be an honor. The tune hardly matters, I would love to hear a northern song. For academic purposes of course.”

Saaga grimaces. ”Oh, fine. But if you do go deaf, don’t blame me. I need to think for a second though.”

Saaga wasn't really good at singing. She had never sung in public and never made it into school-choir. Her best attempt had probably been while outrageously drunk at local karaoke. Thank god she couldn't even remember anything of that embarrassing night. The video her friends had taken had been quickly destroyed as well.

_I don’t think they would approve of Lady Gaga or Madonna._

It takes Saaga a long while to decide what to sing that doesn’t sound too incomprehensible in Middle-earth or make at least some sexual innuendoes. It is surprisingly difficult task. Finally she nods at their expectant faces while sincerely hoping they wouldn't be too disappointed by her amateurish performance.

”Alright, here goes nothing.”

Saaga takes a deep breath, starting to sing a slow tune compared to the original one. She sings the song as if it is a lullaby:

 _Hey brother, there’s an endless road to re-discover._  
_Hey sister, know the water's sweet but blood is thicker._  
_Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you,_  
_There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do._

Maybe there  _is_ something magical in that precious moment, shared in their campfire's light. Flames dance on her friend's faces, their dark eyes twinkling with companionship and Saaga feels it as if its a physical thing, brushing against her gently and with warmth. Encouraged, she clears her throat and continues softly.

 _Hey brother, do you still believe in one another?_  
_Hey sister, do you still believe in love, I wonder?_  
_Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you,_  
_There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do._

 _What if I'm far from home?_  
_Oh, brother I will hear you call._  
_What if I lose it all?_  
_Oh, sister I will help you out!_  
_Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you,_  
_There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do._

”That’s all there is to it,” Saaga announces, throwing her hands in the air as a sign of giving up. The company rewards her with a round of applause.

”You were right, Saaga. You’re not the greatest singer in the world,” Kíli smirks at her. Playing offended, the woman throws a small rock in his general direction, making everyone else laugh. She could see their shoulders shaking from it from the corners of her eyes and it warmed her inside out.

”Alright, calm down. Let’s not make too much noise,” Thorin says with a amused smile. It was a welcome change to see him in good mood as well. ”One more song and then sleep. We need our strength tomorrow.”

”I want to hear a dwarfish song if its alright,” Saaga declares excitedly. ”I sang you one of the North, now I want to hear one of the East.”

”Well,” Bofur’s face slowly lights up in a smile. ”That’s not a hard decision.” He is looking at Thorin meaningfully, making Saaga’s gaze confusedly shift between them as if in a tennis-match. Is the miner seriously telling their king to _sing_?

Apparently he was. It started as a deep hum from within Thorin’s chest and as if the sound was infectious all the dwarves join into the low rumble and even Bilbo tries his best to imitate them. The others slowly join their king as he sings. At first Saaga was sitting there, perfectly merry and laughing from deep within her belly, and the next second her smile falters and transforms into something else.

 _Far over the Misty Mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away ere break of day,_  
_To find our long-forgotten gold_

Saaga swallows heavily looking into the flames of their campfire. It was like they were singing their national anthem for such was the yearning in their expressions. Even the Durin brothers are serious - and that never happens - eyes dark and thoughts clearly somewhere far away. Dwalin has a hand on Balin’s shoulder.

 _The pines were roaring on the height_  
_The winds were moaning in the night_  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread_  
_The trees like torches blazed with light_

As the last note is sung, Saaga can feel the heat coming off her cheeks in waves. There was something about this song that struck her deep within her core.

"That was beautiful," she barely manages to croak at their smiling faces.

After that, even when everyone else has settled to sleep for the night, Saaga continues to stare into flames as if in a hazy dream. Somehow she feels closer to the dwarves than ever before, like an invisible wall has been knocked down between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's song is "Road Goes Ever On" or also known as "The Old Walking Song" by J. R. R. Tolkien. This exact verse of the song was actually sung by Bilbo in the Hobbit.
> 
> Saaga is obviously singing "Hey Brother" by Avicii. If you want to hear what I had in mind for the melody, then go check Eurielle's channel from YouTube. She has a gorgeous voice and a brilliant cover for this song. (Not to mention she has videos where she sings "The Song of Durin" and "Lament for Thorin".)
> 
> And of course we all know who "Misty Mountains (Cold)" belongs to. Regretfully, not to me.
> 
>  
> 
> As a note for the chapter, you might now notice that it's becoming a mix of movies and the book. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment if you have a moment? :)


	10. Litost

**Litost:** _A state of torment created by the sight of another’s misery._

 

As they had feared their miraculous clear-headedness vanished the following day. The mist and magic were back in full force, making it difficult to breath for it was like a chain, ever tightening and loosening around their chests. Frankly, the company was exhausted, starving and battered from their escapade in the woods and now they had to carry Bombur on top of all the difficulties. There was no song cheerful enough left to lift this gloom off of their shoulders.

And so, they groaned continuously as they stumbled onwards. Bombur’s body felt like it became heavier by the second as did their own steps.

”We need… to take a rest,” Nori is the first one to blurt out in desperation. When they finally do come to a stop they manage to stand upright only with painstaking difficulties.

Bilbo takes a seat on a tree stump, falling down sluggishly. Saaga manages to stagger next to him and fall on her knees, turning her face upwards, blinking and breathing rapidly. She wasn’t honestly sure if she could get up anymore. Her new boot enhancements were proving to be extremely heavy, like weights tied to her shins and there was no bone left in her body that did not ache. It felt like growing-pains, the same kind that had plagued her during teenage years.

”What is that?” Bilbo whispers to himself, head spinning around almost as if he is drugged. ”Those voices,” the Hobbit continues. ”Can you hear them?”

The only thing the others can hear are the steady, slow beats of their own hearts.

”I hear nothing,” Thorin says with a raspy voice. ”No wind… no birds. What hour is it?”

Dwalin, ever the faithful, answers their leader as no one else seems to have concentration to do so, ”I do not know. I don’t even know what day it is.”

”This is taking too long,” Thorin grunts desperately, leaning his weight on a vine. ”Is there no end to this accursed forest?!” His loud voice booms, seeming to echo around them and voice slowly waning. None of them has the strength left to tell Thorin to cease the shouting.

”None that I can see,” Glóin mutters, his wide eyes rolling in his skull fearfully, ”only trees and more trees. And I really, really hate trees."

Stumbling over his own feet Thorin staggers off the road, looking deep into the forest with absolute hatred.

”This way.”

”But Gandalf said-..” Óin starts but is cut off by Thorin’s angry shout.

”Do as I say. Follow me.”

Saaga breathes slowly through her nose but is unable to stand. It was like her legs had gone to sleep and stopped being willing to cooperate.

”Come on, lass. On your feet,” Bofur encourages gently and lifts her up. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, Saaga leans on him as they stumble off the path.

”I don’t think… I can go on much further…” Saaga whispers remorsefully. Her tongue feels swollen again.

”Don’t ya say that, lass. Just take one step after the another.”

”Bofur,” Saaga breathes, her head lolling on his shoulder, ”I feel bad.”

”Are you gonna be sick?”

Hazily, Saaga focuses on her feelings and groans.

”Not yet. Soon.”

Bofur grunts as an answer, his hold tightening on her waist and Saaga’s other arm gets thrown over his shoulders. The woman cannot help but be continuously impressed by the stubbornness and endurance of the dwarves, and embarrassed about her own. She was such a weakling compared to them.

”I’m sorry, Bofur,” Saaga whispers, her voice colored by sadness.

”Shush,” he merely grumbles and lifts her body over a small rock. Bilbo is shouting something behind them but Saaga cannot make out the words.

The whole day turns into a nightmare. Soon they realized they were just running around in circles and not getting any further. They had lost the path and done exactly what Gandalf had told them _not_ to do. It takes them a while but it soon becomes clear that they cannot find the Elven road no more and have to settle for walking blindly forward.

Finally, after long hours of walking, Saaga’s body decides that it can't take this abuse anymore. She almost passes out right then and there, her toes dragging against the ground as Bofur holds her upright. The miner realizes that his friend is barely conscious.

”Stop,” he shouts anxiously, taking a firmer hold of Saaga who would have slumped into a boneless pile if it weren’t for him. ”Thorin, she can’t go on much longer.”

”Then we leave her behind!” Thorin roars and walks to them. He takes a hold of the woman’s chin, turning her unfocused eyes to meet his. ”You keep walking, woman. We cannot delay.”

With the pure strength of her irritation, Saaga manages to focus her gaze and glare heatedly at the dwarf. Thorin’s words might be just a bait to keep her moving out of pure spite but she was having none of it. Saaga was sick of these tactics.

”Fuck you, Thorin,” she spits and trembles in his hold. ”I am human. You’re a dwarf. Do you not realize what this place is doing to me?” Saaga manages to find enough power to stand on her own wobbling feet, still heavily leaning on worried looking Bofur. ”My body is shutting down,” she hisses to their leader’s face. ”I can’t even feel my arms anymore. So fuck you and your goddamn demands.”

Thorin looks suddenly much more understanding, his blue eyes trailing over her limp arms. They swing uselessly in the air and Saaga can't do a thing about it. Thorin swallows, looking so very sad and worried that it breaks her heart. If the woman wasn't so thoroughly exhausted she would have tried to comfort him.

”We have to go forward," Thorin mutters miserably.

”We need to rest!”

”We have no time to rest, Durin’s day approaches with every second we waste.”

”What is the point of going forward when we don’t even know where we are? We’re lost. We could be going to wrong direction for all we know.”

”We are not lost. We keep heading east.”

”But which way is east? We’ve lost the sun.”

”I thought you were the expert!”

Thorin has let go of Saaga's jaw to take part in the fight which makes the brunette's head loll powerlessly around. It would have probably rolled off were it not attached to her neck. Bofur shakes her gently and whispers encouraging words into her ear, trying to keep her awake. The dwarves just continued from one argument to another, this time all against each other while they tried to decide what was the smart thing to do next. Thorin wanted to keep moving forward, Nori wanted to circle back towards the road and Dori just wanted to take a rest.

”We need to get above the canopy,” Bilbo says with a clear voice that cuts like a sharp knife through all the hassle. He was looking upwards, his arms raised as if trying to reach the sky. ”We need to find the sun so we know where we are.”

”Can you climb, Master Baggins?” Thorin asks him seriously and startles the small Hobbit out of his haze.

”Yes. Yes I can.”

Finally silent, they all watch Bilbo carefully climb up, out of their sight and in between the tree leaves. When his furry feet disappear, Fíli and Kíli walk to meet Saaga and Bofur.

”How is she?” One of them asks but Saaga can’t figure out which to save her life.

”Fading. She is fading and fast. We need to get out of here,” Bofur whispers back to them.

”’m fine…” The woman mumbles and forces her head upright. ”’m fine, ya hear me.”

Their faces swim in her vision. Saaga can’t even make out the lines of their faces. Fíli just looks like a mass of golden hair and Kíli of dark brown.

”This is bad.”

”We need keep moving. I can help you carry her.”

Sluggishly, Saaga looks over Kíli’s shoulder and feels coldness creep inside her.

”Monster,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. Kíli falters at her words.

”What did you call me?”

”Not ya,” she mumbles, ”...just hate… spiders.”

Before anyone can react, the black mass behind Fíli and Kíli comes alive. The fight is over before it even begins. The spider jabs it’s spike first into Kíli’s back, followed by Fíli.

”Run, Bofur,” Saaga manages before she wills the darkness to take her.

 

* * *

 

_Don’t panic._

Saaga can’t move. Her legs are tightly pressed together along with her hands that feel like they are glued to her sides. Now that Saaga can actually feel her arms again, it would have been nice to be able to use them. No luck for her. Saaga shook her head around in disgust, managing to get some room between the web and her face.

_Don’t panic._

Experimentally, heart throbbing in her throat, she tries to wiggle around.

”Stop moving,” somebody hisses on her left when their web-wrapped bodies bounce against one another. They were clearly hanging in the air. The revelation didn't make the woman feel any better and because Saaga felt terrified of falling, she stopped moving immediately after the other's words. ”If you move they sting you.”

Light-headed, Saaga tries to focus on his voice instead of panic that makes her blood hum. Her breath was moist against the web.

”Kíli?”

”Yeah, it’s me.”

”Oh thank god,” she quietly sighs in relief, ”you’re alive.”

”For now at least.”

They both shut up instantly when they hear one of the spiders approaching, clicking noises escaping it as a warning.

_**”Kill them… Eat them… Strip them bare of their meat…”** _

A black shadow moves past their hanging bodies. For a while they stay silent and unmoving as the dead, eyes fearfully wide behind the webs, before Saaga breaks down. The weight of the dark days in Mirkwood finally make her fall apart from inside out. She gasps a shuddering breath, leaning her forehead on the web-wall. The woman wants to cry aloud but she doesn’t dare in case it seals their fate.

”I can hear them, Kíli,” Saaga whispers tearfully and tiredly, slowly succumbing to hysteria. ”I can hear them talking. They want to… to eat us alive. They want to skin us alive, to peel it off. _I can hear them, Kíli._ ”

_**”Eat them now while their blood is running.”** _

”Don’t listen to them, Saaga,” the youngest dwarf whispers desperately. He tries to turn his head towards her. ”Focus on my voice. Don’t listen.”

_**”Their hide is though, but there’s good juice inside.”** _

”No, no, no…” She moans almost painfully, her whole body trembling with fear. They cannot move and even if they try, they get paralyzed by the spider spikes and still get eaten.

_Eaten by a spider. What would her mother say?_

”I hate this gift. I don’t wanna hear this, I don't! Please, please make it stop,” Saaga sobs heart-wrenchingly. Kíli closes his brown eyes tightly, hearing the female crying softly next to him but not being able to do anything about it. Biting his lip, he tries to stretch his hand towards a hidden knife in his boot.

_**”Feast! Feast! Feast! Eat them alive!”** _

Suddenly there is a loud clang from somewhere which would have made them jump if they weren’t hanging in the air. Instead they just twitch.

 _ **”What is it? What is it?”**_ The spiders whisper curiously to one another, their shapes passing by the moving eyes of the company. No one dares to speak or as much as turn their head. While most of the spiders seem to leave their feasting place and run after the strange noise, one remains. Saaga can hear it hissing in pleasure.

 _ **”Fat and juicy…”**_ It snarls excitedly. **_”Just a little taste.”_**

”It’s going to eat Bombur,” she whispers in horror. Then she says with a clear and panicking voice: ”It’s going to eat Bombur!”

Kíli’s body next to her startles and she can hear him groaning, cursing and squirming around. Soon there is another clang that makes them stop on their tracks and just listen. There another one, and yet another, and the spider in question is screaming in confusion.

_**”Curse it! Where is it? Where is it?!”** _

There is another nasty sound, like a carrot snapped in half that makes Saaga suck in a breath.

_**”Ah! It stings! It stings…”** _

There is a clear whooshing sound and a smack when the spider’s body hits the ground.

”I… I think it’s dead,” Saaga whispers in puzzlement, trying too see through the walls of her prison with teary eyes.

”What happened?”

”I don’t know. It just stopped-”

”Saaga?”

The figure coming to stand before her is unmistakable even with her limited vision.

”Bilbo!” Saaga cries out in relief. The woman had almost peed herself in terror, thank god Bilbo had gotten here before anything of the sort could happen. She would have never lived it down.

”Bilbo?!” Kíli wiggles in his cocoon. ”Is that you?”

”I’m gonna cut you down, stay still.”

The fall makes their stomachs drop but the webs slow their downfall, almost gently lowering them to the ground that is covered in a layer of leaves anyhow. They could all hear each other, the other company members lying on the forest floor, covered in webs. It was a great comfort to know they were still all together.

”You alright there, Bofur?”

”I’m all right!”

”Get it off me!”

Roughly the webs are ripped off Saaga’s face by a dark haired dwarf who is breathing franticly above her, half of his own head still covered in white goo.

”Kíli,” Saaga whispers in relief, fresh tears rising into her already glistening eyes.

”Hey, I’m here. Calm down, poppet. Let’s get you out of it, okay?” Kíli’s smile was the most beautiful thing Saaga had ever seen. At least it felt like that at the moment. Without wasting a second, eager to get out of her nasty prison Saaga squirms around, helping the other release her. Kíli fondly smooths down her brown hair, picking the spiderwebs out of it. Saaga smiles at him so widely she fears her cracked lips are going to split but returns the gesture. Kíli grimaces as the webs feel like gum in his hair. They were all going to need a good wash after this.

”Where is Bilbo?” Bofur asks when the rest of them are on their feet.

”I’m up here!” They hear the Hobbit yell before his words turn into a scream. Saaga draws her hunting knife from her waist, grateful for being finally able to reach it. She could hear the angry whispers getting closer and closer.

”They’re coming!” The Finn warns her friends.

It becomes a fight or die situation. No fleeing involved. There was nowhere to run as the spiders seemed to come from every direction: from the ground and from above. With a loud roar they attack as a group, smacking off the monsters’ legs and thrusting their swords and knives into their round bellies. At some point they physically tear one spider apart so that it doesn't get Bombur, who has fallen on the ground.

As a side note, Saaga is happy to see that their cook was awake once more. What a wake-up call this must have been! She had no time to celebrate it for long however as one eight-legged creature moves to grab her. It's black, hairy feet curl around her body.

”Dwalin!” She screams at the warrior fighting near her. ”Dwalin, help!”

Without a second of hesitation the warrior swings his axe through the air, hitting the spider squarely in between it’s many eyes. Shrieking, it lets go of Saaga who almost impales herself on her own knife as she falls. Dwalin snatches his axe back with a sickening crunch and back-to-back they turn to meet their next enemy. Dwalin looks very sure of himself while Saaga has trouble even holding her knife straight in her trembling palms. What a nice contrast they made.

There were more enemies coming down and the situation turned towards desperate. Then their eyes focused and the company realizes that it wasn't spiders flinging themselves down the trees but men. Unfortunately when Saaga gets an arrow pointed to her nose - her eyes crossing from the closeness of it - she understands that they have merely exchanged one danger to other. The bow-wielder looks at her calmly and those eery features look strangely familiar. 

”Elves,” Saaga breaths out, lowering her weapon. Surely they were better than spiders; at least they can be reasoned with. Dwalin is leaning against her back, the firm grip on his axe not relaxing in the slightest.

”They ain’t friends, lass.”

”If you don't think I would kill you, dwarf, you are sadly mistaken.”

Saaga jolts and dares to move her head around despite the threatening arrow pointed to her face. She stares over her shoulder with huge eyes, mouth moving silently. This must be a dream. Must be! It looked as if the elf pointing his arrow to Thorin was… Legolas? Saaga’s head is spinning from the realization. The blond elf was basically the only character from Lord of the Rings that she remembers, mostly because he had been so good-looking and a badass fighter. And now here he was, about to shoot an arrow through hers and her friend's skulls. Fate seems to like playing cruel games on Saaga's expense.

”It would be my pleasure,” Legolas continues, making Saaga’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. The Legolas she remembers never sounded so angry and blood-thirsty. He had been the calmest of their company, clearly thinking before he opened his mouth and preferred to stay back and observe.

”Help!”

A muffled, fear-filled shout reaches their ears. They all gasp when they notice that one of them was missing and twirl around, looking for the lost company member.

”Kíli!” Fíli hollers, looking over his shoulder for his little brother. Before any of them can move to help him, Kíli is walked to the group by the scruff of his neck by a red-haired elf. Sagging in relief, Fíli grasps his brother when he is near enough and squeezes his arm. Kíli returns the gesture with a rueful smile.

”Search them”, Legolas then orders and lowers his bow after their immediate weapons are pulled away from their hands. Saaga doesn’t have much to offer in their surrender. She just gives up her hunting-knife without resistance which seems to surprise the elf who has been tasked with searching her. To Saaga's confusion her action doesn’t seem to please him. The elf's expression turns sour, mangling his handsome features into something less beautiful and more human.

”What are you hiding?” He hisses, his expression darkening over because of suspicion. His hands start to tap the woman's body to her disbelief, and inevitably they rise to rub against her chest. With a surprised shriek Saaga’s leg swings up by instinct, giving him a mighty kick right there where it hurts the most. The male elf shrieks as well, his voice two octaves higher than what it probably normally is. He falls to his knees, hands between his legs, mouth hanging open in what is now a soundless scream of pain.

”What did you do that for?!” The red-haired female elf comes to her, turning Saaga forcefully around by her shoulder. Saaga purses her lips angrily at the other who was clearly expecting her to be scared or at least startled. Unfortunately, after you have had a staring competition with the Goblin king and a giant bear, one did not spook that easily.

”Well what would you do if someone groped _your_ breasts, huh? It's not like I hurt him on purpose.”

The pretty elf squints her eyes at Saaga, seeming to come to a realization of some kind. She looks at Legolas for help, face bewildered and her gorgeous autumn-colored hair spilling over her shoulders. In awe Saaga's eyes trail down and down the red waterfall that almost reaches the backs of the elf's knees.

”This one… is a female.”

”A woman!” Saaga corrects irritatedly, throwing her hands in the air and not feeling very impressed by these new elves anymore, pretty haired or not. She definitely preferred the ones in Rivendell as they had manners at least. ”Why is everyone so surprised by my gender? Have you never seen a human woman before? What are you, some kind of hermits?”

Dwalin is cackling at her snappishness despite their situation, and Fíli and Kíli are smirking so proudly it makes their whole faces glow. The rest of the company was mostly huffing at her antics, eyes on the elves instead of her, trying to figure out their next move. They were probably grateful for the distraction Saaga provided.

”Never seen one as ugly as you,” Legolas answers easily as he steps closer, eyeing Saaga from head to toe. ”Almost got yourself mistaken for a dwarf.”

”Yes, yes. Hello to you too, handsome,” Saaga smiles at him with her teeth bared. In case they have a chance to negotiate their way out of this mess, she feels reluctant to insult him even if she wished to. It kinda hurt being called ugly by someone as stunning as Legolas. Honestly, Saaga may not have been a model but she was decent looking at least.

Her words merely make the blond elf’s head cock sideways.

_”What is a human woman doing amongst dwarves?”_

_”The minds of men are mysterious. She probably doesn’t even realize who she is traveling with,”_ the female elf mutters, eyeing Saaga almost sadly.

Their conversation makes Saaga burst out laughing. It was not a joyful sound but a more hysterical in its nature from the adrenaline still coursing in her blood, and it made even some of her own friends raise their eyebrows. But Saaga cannot help the laughter as this whole situation seemed utterly ridiculous.

At the same time she wondered if there would ever be a moment after a battle where she could keep her head clear and not let the after-match of emotions cloud her mind and judgement.

_ ”At least they have more manners than you lot!” _

Her usage of Elvish that pours so naturally from her mouth makes the elves around them suck in a startled breath and stop trying to strip the dwarves from their weapons. They were now all looking at Legolas expectantly, hoping their commander knew how to handle the situation.

”You speak our language?” Legolas asks in Westeron, looking taken aback. Even he looked a bit worried about Saaga's mad laughter.

”I speak a fuck load of languages,” Saaga snarls and relishes in their flinches of her harsh use of common tongue. She copies Fíli’s cocky smirk and opens her arms in invitation to question her. ”I’m special like that.”

”Enough,” Thorin barks at her, making the woman shut up immediately. Okay, maybe she took that a step too far. Speaking like this wasn't like Saaga at all but she is scared and confused, and it was her only way of defending herself. Obediently Saaga’s lips snap shut at the command and she throws a apologetic smile towards their leader. Thorin sighs and shakes his head. Having the small woman with them was like having a dwarfling in their group. She just didn't know when to stop.

Legolas doesn’t seem to know what to make of Saaga so instead he takes a hold of Orcrist that is offered to him by another elf. Apparently he needed a second to clear his head. " _This is an ancient Elvish blade. Forged by my kin,”_ he voices aloud, looking at the sword in bewilderment. His sharp blue eyes turn their focus on Thorin, meeting a pair of equally steely ones. ”Where did you get this?”

”It was given to me.”

Clearly not believing their king, Legolas points Thorin’s own sword to his neck. Dwalin behind him growls in warning and Saaga has to agree. This doesn't look good.

”Not just a thief but a liar as well.” He slashes the blade through air.  _”Bind them! And bind the woman’s mouth as well so no more filth can fall from those lips.”_

”What?” Saaga whispers as the elf she had kicked smirks smugly, looking pleased to get a chance for a payback. The guard takes a hold of her brown hair to draw Saaga closer, probably so he can stuff her mouth full of fabric. It hurts quite a lot and to her embarrassment it makes Saaga suck in a surprised gasp in pain and stumble helplessly forward.

”Hey! Let her go!” Bofur yells, trying to force his way to her side.

”Stop it you wiry pinheads!” Glóin struggles to reach Saaga as well. ”Have you no manners?”

 _”Enough, Gundewal,”_ the red-haired woman comes to save Saaga from the guard's violent hands. ”I will take her.”

_ ”But Tauriel…” _

_”I said enough,”_ Tauriel snaps almost angrily and as it seems that the red-head is in charge, the other elf can only bow and leave but not without glaring daggers at Saaga all the while doing so. Breathing heavily and shaking, Saaga turns to look at her savior. She swallows hesitantly under the gaze of those forest-green eyes for Tauriel might be the prettiest person she has ever seen. Middle-earth seemed to be full of extremes like this and for once Saaga didn't mind it at all.

”I’m sorry,” Saaga mumbles. ”I didn’t mean to kick him so hard. It was just a pure reaction to what he did.”

After searching her face for a hint of a lie, Tauriel seems to relax. She doesn’t exactly smile but her features soften a notch, making her even more beautiful than a second before. If she were to smile Saaga would probably fall in love. Tauriel holds a piece of linen in her long, thin fingers and offers it towards Saaga.

”I will bind your mouth now.”

Sighing, Saaga turns around and lets her do as she was told. It wasn't Tauriel’s fault after all - that’s her name right? - and Saaga willingly succumbs to her fate. Then the human’s hands are bound together before her but not nearly as tightly as she had expected. It was hard to smile with the fabric in her mouth but she tries her best anyway. Saaga has been offered kindness and the only thing she can do right now to show her gratefulness in return was to offer a smile.

She couldn't help her smirk from widening as she was walked past Fíli, who looked innocent from head to toe even after weapon upon a weapon was found strapped to him. The elf un-arming him just looked annoyed, a respectful stack of daggers and knives piling up next to his feet. Somehow Saaga had never realized that Fíli was armed from head to toe.

Irritatingly the linen turns uncomfortable after few minutes of walking as it soaks in her spit. Disgusted, Saaga just bites down on it harder, her amused mood leaving her in a rush. At least Mirkwood wasn't looking so dark and unfriendly anymore when the trees begun to grow more sparsely and sunlight managed to get past the leaves and ground turned drier under their steps. It was a big improvement after weeks of walking on damp and soggy paths. They came to the castle, for a lack of better word, and were marched straight inside so fast they barely had any time to admire it. Well, the dwarves didn't seen to care but Saaga could have just stood there for a minute and admire it.

 _”Close the gate,”_ Legolas orders behind them and those massive stone doors are shut with a bang, sealing them inside the shadowy castle.

_Goodbye freedom._

The castle itself was almost as beautiful as Rivendell but less light and definitely less inviting. They were walked over narrow bridges made of stone and sometimes of wood and Saaga was constantly afraid of missing a step and plunging down into the deep. Sometimes the doorways looked almost like they were made from pure bone but Saaga truly prayed that they the elves has just used old trees, colored grey by age. She certainly didn't wish to spend rest of her existence as a doorpost, elvish feet trampling all over her remains. And so down, down they continue and it almost felt like the company was lead somewhere underground.

Their assumption was correct in the end. Apparently they were brought straight to the dungeons and hastily pushed into one-man cells. Dwalin is first to go, stumbling into the darkness by a push of an elf guard. The door bangs closed and locks with a soft click.

”This is not the end of it,” Dwalin growls in that warning warrior-growl of his and bangs his massive fists against the bars.

The linen is finally removed from her mouth and Saaga smacks her tongue in relief. That was very unpleasant, indeed.

”We will continue this way,” Tauriel says and steers her towards a staircase.

”Wait, what?” Saaga asks incredulously and looks over her shoulder at her traveling companions. ”Where are you taking me?”

Tauriel’s grip tightens as she drags the unwilling woman forward. Now she regrets the fact that she took the linen off the human's mouth before they reached their destination. The elf's pulling makes Saaga force them into a full halt despite the feeling of her arm almost being pulled out of its socket.

”NO! No, do not separate me from them!” Her desperate cry captures the attention of the company. The dwarves turn to look over their shoulders just to see their friend - the only one who cannot even properly defend herself - getting dragged into a different direction. It seems to be enough to spark their anger once more and rile them into a furious rage.

”What are you doing?” Thorin struggles against his captors. ”She belongs with us! Leave her alone!”

”Let go of her! Saaga!” Fíli yells after her even as he is forcefully pushed into a cell of his own.

”Let me go!” Saaga screams fearfully but Tauriel was not listening. With strength that should not be found in such a light-weight woman, the elf grabs Saaga by her waist and lifts the human under her arm like a small pig taken to be butchered. Saaga was fully prepared to squeal like one.

”No! No!” She screams and squirms feverishly. ”Thorin! Thorin, help me! Bofur! Kíli! _Somebody!_ ”

The dwarves roar after her, pushing and struggling against the elven guards. Saaga has time to meet their anxious faces just for a split-second before doors are banged shut between them.

_That’s it. I am on my own now._

Frankly, the thought scares the living spirits out of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, please? Any corrections or ideas are hugely appreciated!


	11. Ellipsism

**Ellipsism:**   _A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out._

 

”What do you think they will do to her?” Ori wonders loudly enough so that the others can hear him. They all have cells of their own; small rooms with just enough space to walk in nervous circles. Clearly they were not meant for comfort or long stay as they just had wooden planks to sit or lie down on.

”If they touch a hair on her head, I swear to Mahal…” Fíli snarls and uselessly kicks the bars of his prison in anger. Dwalin likewise is trying to break through by repeatedly slamming his shoulder on the door.

”Leave it, son. These are no orc prisons. These are the Halls of the Woodland Realm. There is no way out without the blessing of the Elven king,” Balin says tiredly, his back leaning on the stone wall. It was cold as ice and it made the old dwarf shudder and wrap his worn out red coat tighter around him.

”Where have they taken uncle?” Kíli asks, leaning his forehead on the bars, joining their quiet conversation.

”Probably to meet that wretched king,” Dwalin snarls, his muscled legs crossed under him now that he has given up trying to break through the bars. ”Let’s hope he can negotiate our way out of this place.”

”I doubt he can,” Dori huffs, ”Thorin hates these tree-people more than anyone. Let’s just assume he’ll rip the head of the Elven king straight off his shoulders the minute he meets him.”

”It is a discussion between two kings,” Balin argues. ”Surely Thorin can hold his temper in check for the duration of it.” He sounds hopeful but they all know Thorin has a habit of letting his feelings take a hold of his tongue. Frankly, the situation seemed quite hopeless.

”Well we know what Thorin is doing,” Ori continues, ”but where have they taken Saaga? They won’t torture her, will they? Oh, the poor thing.”

”Enough, Ori,” Nori disturbs his musing from the cell next to him. ”Saaga is strong. She’ll probably curse them so hard their pointy ears will fall off. I wish I could be there to see it.”

”The lass will be fine. Elves can barely stand to look upon torture anyway.” Glóin spits between the bars in obvious distaste. ”Much less to do it on their own. And to a woman! I hardly think they will hurt her.”

”She looked so scared,” Kíli mutters, his head pounding from a headache. ”Mahal, I just wish we could do something for her.”

”The woman is always scared. Be it goblins, spiders or elves. She looks like she is afraid of her own shadow half of the time,” Glóin grumbles. ”We should have never let her join us. Look where it got us!”

”It’s hardly Saaga’s fault that we got captured,” Kíli almost shouts, his large hands now gripping the bars so tightly it hurts. ”Maybe if you would stop roaring so loudly every time we fight the elves wouldn’t have heard us.”

”Are you telling me this is my fault?”

”Well, it isn’t Saaga’s!”

”Enough boys!” Balin cuts through their argument. ”There is no use fighting amongst ourselves. Calm your temper, Kíli! And Glóin, I expected better of you.”

Grumbling angrily, Glóin fingers the locket hanging around his neck.

”No woman should have to go through things like this. Not so young anyhow.” Gritting his teeth together until it makes his jaw lock, the red-haired dwarf rubs his eyes tiredly. ”I know I said they wouldn’t torture her. And I do not think they will in a way that we know. But she is a woman and… and there are other ways to hurt her. Those that our race wouldn’t even consider.”

Startled, Balin raises to stand in his cell and walks to the bars in order to hear better.

”Surely you don’t mean… they wouldn’t touch her. They are elves, not beasts.”

”We all know how these Woodland-elves are like, Balin,” Glóin says, his head hanging low and glaring at the floor over his massive bread. ”I wouldn’t put it past them.”

”What are you talking about?” Kíli whispers, dread filling his belly and making his head spin. ”You aren’t talking about… about… They wouldn’t!”

”She is at their mercy. What is there to hold them back now that we’re stuck down here? The girl can hardly fight them.”

The declaration hangs heavy over their minds and fills their imagination with terrible things. They can almost hear her desperate screams in their ears. Horrified, Fíli falls on his bench, staring at the wall with disbelieving eyes.

”What have we done?”

”We ain’t done nothing!” Glóin grunts. ”She wanted to come along. Surely she knew this could happen.”

”How could she have known?” Bofur adds tiredly, his back leaning against the stone as well. His hat has fallen to cover his eyes and the miner has no strength left to fix it on its place. ”Thorin swore to protect her. Saaga trusted us to keep her safe.”

”Just one woman,” Fíli whispers. ”Just one and we couldn’t even keep her out of harm's way.”

”Shameful this is,” Dwalin agrees quietly, his eyes lingering on the floor.

”How can you be more concerned about your honor than her well-being?” Ori snaps with such ferociousness that it makes the others raise their eyebrows. For Dwalin it meant hanging his head even lower in shame.

”We don’t know what happened to her. She might be just fine for all we know,” Balin says gently. ”We can only hope.”

 

* * *

 

”Will you _please_ put me down now?” Saaga asks irritatedly, her hands and beautiful fur-gaiters dragging against floor as she has given up on her fight. The Finn looked like a doll that Tauriel carried around. Next she would probably want to play with her hair. ”This is humiliating.”

The elves passing by cover their mouths in their sleeves. As if Saaga didn't know they were laughing at her pitiful state of being.

”Can you behave yourself if I do?”

”Yeah, yeah. I promise.”

Gently Tauriel helps Saaga on her feet and instantly the brown haired girl is glaring at the other. There are smudges of dirt all over her face which makes her dark eyes appear almost black; almost something akin to the blackness of dwarvish eyes.

”Where are you taking me?”

”You’ll see.”

”I want to know.”

”You will see once we get there.”

”Where are my friends? What have you done to them? You won’t hurt them, will you?”

The elf looks at her seriously and cocks her head, making million warm colors play in her hair. How can she look so perfect doing anything and everything escapes Saaga. It makes her a bit jealous, in fact. Beings like her just should't exist. It wasn't fair. They made a startling contrast standing there in the middle of the hallway: Tauriel looking prim, proper and clean (like what a supermodel ninja would probably look like) while Saaga looked like a Neanderthal with her clumsy knives and fur-wrapped boots.

”If they behave, we won’t.”

”And if they won’t?” Saaga is almost too scared to ask. Tauriel purses her thin lips at her which does not calm Saaga down in the least.

”That is for the king to decide.”

Saaga is pulled forward by her bound hands and unable to do anything against it, she reluctantly follows. It felt like her entire story could be summed by one word: reluctant. She could go with the flow but that didn't mean she had to like it. After a while Saaga is lead to a room that has no windows. They were so high up that it was not likely she could have had any chance of escaping from them, so it must have been to exclude the possibility of her jumping out of it. Had they heard of Saaga's tendencies to leap off high places?

Annoyed, Saaga allows Tauriel to release her from the ropes and rubs her delicate wrists angrily. She had almost hoped there would be marks; something to remind her that these elves were not in fact worth her trust.

”What now?”

”Now, you will take a bath,” the elf says to Saaga’s surprise, ”because to tell the truth you smell worse than some orcs I’ve encountered.”

”Okay. So you want to protect your sensitive noses from my stench before you start beating information out of me? Is that it?”

Tauriel looks startled by her question and then raises an eyebrow. The elf looks almost amused.

”Why would we do such a thing? Do you think us to be monsters of some kind?”

”Yes,” Saaga hisses and instantly Tauriel’s small smile disappears. ”You have threatened us, bound us and locked my friends in the dungeons. And now you have separated me from them. What else would you want?” Her hands shake and in useless gesture of protection she crosses them over her chest. God, how she wished her friends were here to help her out. ”I don’t know anything. I won’t tell you anything. If you’re gonna hurt me then might as well just get on with it.” Swallowing and tears rising to her eyes, Saaga sinks her short nails into her arms, trying to cease the trembling. ”Just get on with it!”

”Hey… Hey, hey, hey,” Tauriel shushes her like a mother would a small child. She lays her hands softly on Saaga’s shoulders which just makes her take a step away from the other. Looking hurt, Tauriel allows it. ”We are not going to hurt you. I just thought you would feel better after a bath. We would never hurt a innocent woman.”

Saaga glares up at her suspiciously.

”But you would hurt dwarves?”

”You are twisting my words,” Tauriel claims but doesn't look angry. The female elf looks more desperate to make her understand than anything else. ”Our king is just. He will not allow any harm to come to your friends if they cooperate. Of this, I am sure.”

”I don’t believe you,” Saaga tells the elf sadly. Tauriel looks just as hurt by her words as Saaga feels. ”Just leave me alone.”

”The bath is over there,” Tauriel tells her softly, pointing to a door on their left. ”It has been made ready for you. There are clean clothes as well. Go whenever you feel ready. The guards at the door will come with dinner in few hours. I swear upon our creators no harm will come to you while you remain in our care.”

Saaga wants to believe her, she really does. Tauriel doesn't seem like a person who would lie so easily but Saaga refuses to let the sugar-coated words work their magic on her.

”A prison is still a prison even if there are no bars.”

Halting for a second at her words, Tauriel leaves Saaga on her own and closes the door with a soft click. The small woman has no idea how deep her thoughtless sentence has struck.

 

* * *

 

”Did he offer you a deal?” Balin asks when Thorin is after a long wait returned to the cell next to his. They can hear the key-holder’s steps retreating.

”He did,” Thorin grunts. ”I told him he could go **îsh kakhfê ai-’d dûr-rugnu**!”

Balin barely manages not to roll his eyes at the fierce dwarf-king.

”Him and all his kin!” Thorin shouts so loud that any elf near enough will be able to hear. He hopes the rage in his voice will be enough to make them wet themselves.

”Well, that’s that, then,” the old dwarf smiles without humor and nods his head. ”A deal was our only hope.”

”Not our only hope,” Thorin says with low voice, looking behind the bars of his prison with hope. ”We still have our burglar to count on.”

”Bilbo?” Balin returns to the bars. ”What could he do? Even if he could sneak down here, how would he smuggle thirteen dwarves and a woman out without no one noticing?”

”You’re surprisingly negative about this, old friend. I have come to trust our burglar. Have you not done the same?”

”Aye, I have,” Balin huffs, ”but what you are asking of him is impossible.”

”He has proven himself to be capable of things we thought impossible. He’ll come.”

”I’ve no doubt of it. Just don’t be too disappointed if there is nothing he can do and the best thing _we_  can do is send him on his way. You should have taken the deal.”

”You are very adamant on this,” Thorin says with questioning tone. ”What is it?”

Balin is quiet for a long while, hands on his hips and eyes locked with the stone wall. It was as if he was trying to look through it at Thorin.

”We fear… of what they will do to the woman.”

”To Saaga?” Thorin specifies. ”What would they do to her? Their bad blood is with us, not with those of the race of Men.”

”I fear… she will have to suffer for it. For their distaste with us. They’ll use her to make us talk.”

”Thranduil is arrogant and sometimes bordering on cruel but I do not believe he would knowingly hurt the innocent.”

”Will he see Saaga as innocent?” Balin asks quietly. ”She was traveling with us after all.”

Thorin cannot help feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. Still, he wants to believe in his own words. What Balin is suggesting brings him coldness which he has not felt in a long while.

”She’ll be fine,” he vouches and takes a heavy seat. ”She’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

Saaga has taken a bath and eaten. She felt like a new woman now that her basic needs were taken care of but she could not allow herself to relax completely. Instead, the human walks in nervous circles around her room, biting the skin on her thumb and trying to come up with a plan. How the hell would they get themselves out of this mess? The company was locked in the dungeons, she was up here and Bilbo was lost somewhere between the forest and the castle if he was even alive. The odds were definitely not in their favor.

Moaning in annoyance Saaga takes a seat in front of a mirror. She can barely recognize herself. She hasn't seen her own reflection in months.

First of all, the elven tunic makes a huge difference. Or maybe it was more about the fact that it was clean and without any rips at the helm, and less about it being elven. Once again Saaga is clad in a deep green tunic, provided kindly by the elves of Woodland Realm, and half in the clothes she got from Beorn. Apparently she had been turned into a charity case. Only her cloak has been thrown carelessly on the bed as if awaiting a hasty leave.

Combed down, Saaga's brown hair falls softly over her shoulders and bangs have grown in length so much they almost reach her eyes. Beorn's hairpin sits lonely on the top of the table. The bath had revealed small wounds and scrapes all over Saaga's body, and some even on her round cheeks that were hidden under the dirt before. But her cheeks were not as round as they had been when the journey had started. As said, her cheeks have sunken in somewhat and there are black circles under her eyes that would probably never leave, no matter how much she would sleep. Saaga had lost the softness around her tummy and everywhere else while her legs had gained more muscle. On the upper-body she was as wiry as ever, unfortunately, but a bit more brown by the skin tone. The constant stream of sunlight had worked its magic on her before entering Mirkwood.

”Näytänpä kamalalta,”(1) she whispers to her reflection and smiles lopsidedly. ”Olisipa edes meikkiä. Voisin edes teeskennellä etten näytä kölin ali vedetyltä.”(2)

Groaning at her own words, Saaga hides her face behind her hands and pushes so hard she can see galaxies swirling in her vision. Should she offer the Elven king their story in exchange of letting them go? Or did he want something else? Would her attempts even matter? Dammit, where was Thorin when she needed him?

"I'm such a mess."

Saaga is pulled out her thoughts by a guard who comes in to gather her empty dinner-plates away. Following him there is Tauriel who looks at Saaga expectantly. For Saaga, it felt like the female elf had come to deliver her a death-sentence, so she grits her teeth at the other.

”The king has expressed his wish to see you.”

”I’m not sure if I’d like to meet him,” Saaga mumbles but raises on to feet nonetheless. She can feel faint quiver in them but stubbornly tries calm her raging nerves, ”but I don’t think I have much say in it.”

”I’m afraid not,” Tauriel says with a faint smile. To the elf’s confusion Saaga offers her hands to the other which makes Tauriel look at her with raised eyebrows. Saaga falters at the questioning look.

”Will you not bind my hands?”

”No,” Tauriel smiles, ”I do not think that is necessary.”

Saaga can basically hear the kindness in her words but chooses to ignore it. She was still cross at the other for having separated her from the company.

”You’re right,” Saaga nods and lets her arms hang defeatedly against her sides. ”It’s not like I have any chance of escaping anyway.”

The auburn-haired elf looks like she wants to say something but holds herself back. In the end, Tauriel merely raises her palm towards the door as an invitation. As if Saaga had a choice here.

”Come. We must not keep him waiting.”

Huffing, Saaga follows the elf out of the door, past the guards and down more stairs than she remembers climbing up. Her heart flutters nervously in her throat and her hands sweat up. Saaga needs to come up with a plan. She needs a plan! She needs a-…

Then they are at the throne hall and her head is still gapingly empty like a swimming pool without water. Saaga’s eyes have been glued to Tauriel’s back but now that she steps aside, Saaga has a full view of the so much spoken elven king.

Thranduil sits on his throne with such confidence it excludes any questions of him not being born to sit there. His face is carved from marble, smooth and pale as a stone, his eyes a pair of blue sapphires. The king’s richly colored cloak spills over his knees like a waterfall and falls into a soft bundle at his feet. If he can actually walk in that without tripping, Saaga was going to burst into spontaneous applaud.

Then their eyes meet and instantly Saaga is frozen under his gaze. She feels the urge to pee in her pants: that is the kind of a reaction Thranduil is capable of making in mortals. He looked alien, untouchable and so far away despite the fact that the elf was actually right here before her very eyes. Her movements jerking into action, Saaga forces herself to bend into a stoic bow. She’d do anything not to have to look into those eyes again.

_Leave my soul alone!_

”Curious,” the elven king wonders out loud, making Saaga’s stomach perform a double-flip. ”Such a fragile thing you are. So soft and breakable. Tell me, if I were to brush my hand against you, would you just break and scatter into the wind?” Even his voice was eerie, calm and cold as the touch of the dead. Saaga straightens herself but keeps her eyes fixed on the floor.

”I-,” she croaks and has to clear her throat, ”I do not believe so… my lord.”

”’My lord’?” The elven king says slowly as if tasting the word but it sounds more like a question. ”You seem to have better manners than your leader.”

Swallowing, Saaga blinks and shifts on her feet. Her lips push together into a firm line as a small act of disagreement. The king’s eyes flash and it looks like sunlight going through ice.

”You should not pledge your loyalty so easily on those who are not deserving.”

”Why wouldn’t they be deserving?” Saaga asks as calmly as she can despite the inner fire that threatens to burn her into crisp. Their conversation sounds vague but the both of them know exactly what they are talking about.

”Dwarves,” Thranduil drawls. He looks utterly disgusted by the word alone. ”I do not know what lies they have woven into your mind but child…” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes wide and unmoving. ”You should not trust them so lightly. What, exactly, do you think will happen to you if they do succeed on this quest I have been hearing about and claim their homeland as they plan? If Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór does indeed become the King under the Mountain, what then?” He leans forward in his chair. ”What do you think will happen to _you_?”

Apparently they were not wasting any time. Straight to the point then. Truthfully, Saaga had no answers to the king’s question. The woman has not given much thought for what would happen _after_  their adventure. She had been so focused on living day by day, just surviving. Somedays Saaga had not even believed she would live to see the days after the quest and even if she did, she would probably just continue to search for a way home with Gandalf's help.

When Saaga doesn't offer an answer, the elven king smiles faintly.

”They will forget about you,” Thranduil answers his own question, ”and in their greed for gold their eyes can see nothing else. It will consume them, it will change them and it will inevitably end them. Thorin’s grandfather was the same as all the rest of them. I have seen it happen with my own eyes. Dragon sickness flows thickly in the veins of your leader.”

Confused, Saaga dares to raise her eyes to meet Thranduil’s. She startles for the elven king has descanted from his throne quietly as a ghost and stands now mere meters away from the small woman.

”Dragon sickness?” Saaga whispers quietly after she gathers the remaining pieces of her concentration. ”What does that mean?”

”It will be your end,” the eerie king whispers back. ”Did you perhaps think the dwarves would share their treasure with you? Did they promise you a fair share: a mountain of gold?” He moves with a fluid movement, the back of his hand coming to touch Saaga’s cheek softly. ”Perhaps a head-piece so embedded in their brightest jewels that it is almost too heavy to carry?”

Shuddering against the cold hand, Saaga stares at Thranduil with wide eyes. It felt like being held under a spell of those blue sapphires as they seemed so enchanting that one could argue there was pure magic pouring out of the king’s gaze.

”N-no… I didn’t ask for anything,” she confesses. ”I’m just traveling with them until I can meet with Gandalf.”

The elven king hums at her, head cocking and eyes trailing over her form. His hand falls away.

”And what business would you have with a wizard, child?”

”That is irrelevant in this discussion,” Saaga snaps so quickly she even manages to surprise herself. Thranduil, likewise, seems taken aback for a split-second before his face smooths out again.

”You may keep your secrets. I have no interest in comings and goings of the _Istar_. My worries lie upon this quest of yours. I have offered your leader my help but he has profoundly refused.”

Saaga cannot hide her disbelief before his searching gaze. If they had been offered help, why hadn’t Thorin just accepted? Saaga just cannot wrap the idea around her head.

”And in return?” The brunette asks finally. ”What did you ask?”

Thranduil has a small smile on his features as he folds his hands behind his back and walks around Saaga slowly, seizing her up.

”There are gems in that mountain that I too desire. White gems that once belonged to my people before they were stolen. Their worth isn’t even a fraction of the treasures that lies within that mountain and yet, your leader refused.”

”That doesn’t make any sense,” Saaga incredulously states to herself. ”Why would Thorin refuse?”

”Why do you think?” Thranduil whispers as he has come full circle around the woman. Saaga falters and closes her eyes for a second in disbelief. She concludes that Thorin might just be the most thick-headed person ever to walk upon these lands.

”Ah,” she manages, ”I knew that pride of his would one day become his doom.”

”Indeed,” Thranduil agrees. He seems strangely pleased at Saaga’s words. The elf sighs and turns his back on her. ”You seems like a level-headed woman. So, I shall offer you the same deal. Maybe you will prove yourself to be wiser than your leader.”

Saaga jumps at that, eyes so huge she fears they will soon roll out of her skull.

”Promise me to deliver the gems and I shall let you all continue on your way,” Thranduil turns again to look at her. ”Including Thorin Oakenshield.”

The world was slowly tipping upside down in her eyes. What, now the fate of the company was suddenly laid down on _her_  shoulders? That was something Saaga had not expected nor wanted.

”How could I ever live with myself if I were to steal from them?”

”I said nothing of stealing,” Thranduil says lightly. ”Ask the gems for yourself as a payment, as a token of friendship, as a gift: anything that sits well enough in your heart and deliver the heirloom of my people back to where it belongs. This is all I ask in return of my help.”

”I couldn’t… How could I ever..? You cannot ask me of this…”

Saaga is at a complete loss. Should she take the deal? It at least seems like the wisest thing to do. Could she really go through with it? Would it truly count as betraying her friends if they were in a pinch like this?

Thranduil seemed to recognize her inner-struggle, his small smile never wavering on his face.

”I have come to realize that the only thing strong enough to knock some sense into dwarves is time. I thought my next audience with them would maybe be after a hundred years if I were to remember their existence at all at that point. They certainly seem adamant on waisting theirs but tell me, child, how much are the years of your life worth to you? How much is Thorin Oakenshield’s pride worth to you?” Thranduil has returned to his throne and sits down, his posture ever perfect and face calm. Still, there is something akin to satisfaction in his expression. ”Hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. It is long for a dwarf but for a man…” His eyes narrow and Saaga feels her lower lip tremble. She quickly starts gritting her teeth together. ”For the race of Men… A hundred years is _everything_.”

”They said you were cruel,” Saaga hisses lowly, words sizzling past her gritted teeth, ”and they were right!”

”Enough. Take your time to consider my offer,” the elven king says. ”I have time. But remember…” He smiles, his head leaned sideways, ”you might not want to waste yours.” The king waves his hand, ending the discussion.

Gasping in fury, Saaga is turned away from the king by Tauriel and lead away. Maybe the female elf had stood behind her all this time, maybe not; Saaga had no idea. Frankly, she didn't care. When Saaga turns her eyes that are burning with hate for the elven king towards Tauriel, she almost feels delighted when she sees the elf tense up.

”You said your king was just,” she spits. ”Liar.”

Disgusted, Saaga shrugs off the hand on her shoulder and turns to briskly walk in the direction from where they came from. Tauriel hastily follows her. They do not speak a word as they walk up to Saaga’s room, the said woman quietly fuming.

Finally, Tauriel stops at the door of the room, looking sad and sincerely apologetic.

”For what it’s worth… I am sorry things have come to this.”

”I don’t care,” Saaga snaps and waves her hand, willing for the elf to just disappear. So she tells her so: ”Just fuck off!”

Tauriel disappears, closing the door with a soft click. The Finn heaves a few massive breaths through her lungs and then slumps down on a chair before her mirror.

”God dammit,” Saaga mutters furiously and bangs her fist against the table.

What is she going to do now? It does not sit well in her heart to even consider the possibility of Thranduil’s deal but there was nothing else to do. The dwarves may be capable of waiting hundreds of years but Saaga certainly wasn't. She was not going to spend the rest of her days locked in this room, not ever feeling the sun on her face again. Would she never feel the rain or snow either? Would she never see the sun, the stars or the moon, not to mention rainbows or northern lights? All the precious things in this world, suddenly locked away from her reach; it was a terrible feeling. Closing her eyes, Saaga could feel despair falling over her like a huge rock and she was about to be crushed underneath it. A difficult question plagues her mind: what was the prize she is willing to pay for her freedom?

Conflicted look on her face, Saaga raises her eyes to meet her own gaze in the mirror, hoping to find an answer in it. There is someone standing behind her as the reflection reveals.

”Holy-!” Saaga swirls around and falls off her chair, crawling away from the man standing behind her. It takes her a second to realize who it is.

”What the hell?” She cannot help but blurt out in surprise. ”Bilbo?”

”I’m glad to see that being a guest to the elves has done nothing for your manner of speaking,” the Hobbit says, shuffling on his feet and smiling shyly.

”Bilbo!” Saaga repeats happily and jumps at the chance to hug him. ”Thank god, you’re alright! I thought we lost you. I was so worried.”

”I’m fine. I’m fine,” the Hobbit chuckles and hugs her back just as tightly. Saaga allows herself a moment of weakness and lets her face crumble. A hug is a perfect way to hide her dark thoughts that linger on her face. She collects herself when they separate.

”Oh Bilbo,” Saaga whispers, words stuck in her throat. ”What are we going to do?”

”I have a plan,” the Hobbit informs her. Saaga feels as if the floor falls from under her from pure weight of her relief.

”You-… You do?”

”My, my, don’t you sound disbelieving,” Bilbo laughs at her. ”There are empty barrels in the basement. I think that if we can get the dwarves into them, we can escape by the underground river. Do you think you can swim?”

Saaga opens and closes her mouth. She is just about to tell Bilbo off because the plan sounds absolutely ludicrous but thinks better of it. Instead, she smiles blindingly brightly, suddenly feeling ready to cry from joy. Hell, she would rather die trying to escape this place than consider betraying her friends, no matter how crazy the plan is.

”Bilbo, you’re a genious!”

The Hobbit flushes from the praise. Apparently he was still not used to getting it.

”Hardly. But I’m glad you agree. Now, the question is how we are going to get you down there.”

Saaga blinks at that, her brown eyebrows scrunched.

”But… How did _you_ get here? How are _you_ going to get down there? How did you even find me?”

Bilbo looks unsure, staring at Saaga with those kind eyes that seem to beg her to stay calm.

”I… I have something. It will help me get to the dungeons unnoticed. And I followed you when I saw you being led here.”

”But how, Bilbo?” Saaga asks curiously. ”How did you manage that? I certainly didn’t see you.”

”With this,” Bilbo says after a moment of hesitation and pulls something from his vest pocket. A small, golden ring rests upon his palm, looking very innocent. ”It’s a magic ring,” Bilbo tells her as the woman’s eyes widen at the sight. ”It makes me invisible.”

”Oh dear lord,” Saaga chokes, stumbling on her feet and away from the confused Hobbit. The woman takes a seat on the edge of the bed, dread returning and it makes her tear her eyes away from the ring. The white noise that had bothered Saaga in Mirkwood has made a return. Must be the too many shocks in one day. With her luck, she’d probably have a heart-attack by the end of it.

Bilbo has _the ring_. The ring! That cursed object which made the whole Lord of the Rings story possible, that turned Middle-earth upside down and became the fall of so many. With a flash Saaga can suddenly connect the dots and remembers old Bilbo from the movie, reaching for the ring and looking more like that Gollum-creature than this soft faced gentlehobbit before her right now. This was Bilbo's story.  _This_ was the story of how the ring was found after being lost for hundreds of years.

Saaga’s trembling hand rises to cover her mouth as she turns her brown eyes towards the ring once again. It looked so innocent, so fragile. Such a tiny little thing.

And immensely powerful, created from dark magic. It sings softly at Saaga, its outlines burning their shape in her eyes and flooding her senses of taste with something sweet. Could she use it to get home? Gandalf certainly wasn't powerful enough to help her to accomplish it, not to mention the wizard couldn't even offer an explanation for what Saaga's purpose for being here was. The woman could just ask for the ring, ask it to take her home. Bilbo would give it willingly, no doubt. She'd just have to slip it on her finger and _wish_.

It would be so easy. Devastatingly easy.

”Saaga?” Bilbo asks unsurely, taking a step forward. ”What is the matter?”

Saaga jolts out of her thoughts with dark terror, breathing heavily through her nose, eyes wide. The woman rises only to fall on her knees before Bilbo. She gently curls his fingers over the ring to hide it from her sight. The motion physically hurts.

_Don't look at it. Good girl._

”Do not show this ring to _anyone_ ,” Saaga stresses. ”It is of utmost importance. Show it only to Gandalf when you see him. Promise me, Bilbo! Please.”

”Do you know what it is? Why do you look so aghast?”

Bilbo is utterly confused, Saaga can tell. His features are painted with worry and careful curiosity.

”I cannot be sure,” the woman tells the Hobbit softly, ”but I fear… It might be nothing. I might be wrong.”

In her heart Saaga knows she is not but she cannot tell this to Bilbo. She cannot tell what kind of miseries this ring will bring upon him and… his son? Cousin? That Hobbit that was called… ugh, she couldn't remember but it didn't matter for the time being. And secondly, Saaga cannot expose how much she yearns to touch that wretched thing, look how it glitters in campfire's light and slip it on her finger like a wedding ring. Saaga wants to. She wants so very badly it almost makes her muscles jump into action by their own accord.

”Keep it hidden,” she says and hears Gandalf’s wisdom in her words. ”Keep it safe.”

”I will, of course,” Bilbo nods and hides the bloody thing in his pocket. ”It’s just a ring, Saaga.”

”Of course…” She mumbles distractedly, a wavering smile directed at her small friend. ”Of course.”

”Now, back to the real question at hand,” Bilbo tells her firmly. ”How do we get you down to the dungeons?”

They stare at each other for a while in silence, minds furiously working over the possibilities. Then Saaga’s face blooms into a toothy - if a bit shaken - smile.

”I have an idea. Not a good one but an idea nonetheless.”

”What is it?”

”I’m going to hope Tauriel has as soft heart as it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation from finnish to english:
> 
> (1) ”Näytänpä kamalalta." - "Oh my, don't I look terrible."  
> (2) ”Olisipa edes meikkiä. Voisin edes teeskennellä etten näytä kölin ali vedetyltä.” - "I wish I had make-up. I could at least pretend not to look like I've been dragged from underneath a keel."
> 
> How is Saaga going to get herself from this tight spot? :D We'll see. Comment if you liked the chapter?


	12. Pena Ajena

**Pena Ajena:** _The empathetic embarrassment you feel for someone else’s humiliation._

 

Saaga’s hands are bound again, but this time she follows Tauriel willingly, and if one was to look close enough there could be a certain spring seen in her step. The woman distractedly hums the Harry Potter-tune to herself, head turning to see everything around them. Now that her heart felt a bit lighter, the feeling encouraged by relief and partly excitement, Saaga had time to admire the architecture of the castle.

The captain of the elven guard, on the other hand, had been more than surprised when a word that Saaga had been asking for her had reached her ears. Tauriel had been even more stunned by the conversation that had followed in Saaga’s room. The smaller woman had sat Tauriel down on her bed, looking miserable and nervous as usual but considerably less irritated. It seemed that the human had had to swallow her rage and pride before seeking out Tauriel. Truth to be told, that had impressed the elf. The all-ending fury she had seen in those brown eyes had been reined in and locked away.

Little did Tauriel know that such deep feelings were common to the race of Men; controlled easily enough but brought back to the surface with small amount of coaxing, for Men were such creatures by nature. It was the way they were built; to burn bright and fast.

When Saaga had asked her for a favor, her head hung low and eyes pleading, Tauriel had felt the need to cradle the small human in her arms and protect her from all evil. Saaga was a firecracker when it was required of her, she had proved as much, but Tauriel had also seen that depthless fear that had made its home in the woman, like it did in most beings after having faced the grim possibility of death. When the elf had looked at Saaga's trembling hands and flushing cheeks, she had found herself incapable of saying no to her quietly whispered request. She didn't want to be the one to deny her the small comforts.

Immediately the human’s spirits had been lifted, her brown eyes alight with joy and for a second Tauriel had almost expected her to jump to hug her. Saaga hadn’t, but the woman had looked so excited and smiled so widely that Tauriel had thought it might just have been the next best thing. If she could restore even a small part of Saaga’s belief in elves Tauriel was ready to jump at the chance. Elves weren't cruel in their ways and she certainly did not wish anyone to think so. If given the chance, she would love to correct them.

Still, curiosity and worry gnaw at the female elf. Tauriel looks over her shoulder to see the other walking right behind her, head spinning around and still admiring everything around them. What a small being she was - just like their king had said - so fragile and full of childish wonder. Yet firm and relentless and completely, infuriatingly unapologetic.

”I mistake'd you for a dwarf the first time I saw you,” Tauriel confesses suddenly. She has this inexplainable need to connect with this curious little creature, to know more about her.

Saaga is startled out of her thoughts and meets the green eyes of the other woman. Her dark hair is a bird's nest, curling around her roundish features, and eyes so dark they seemed almost black. 

”Well, I was covered in mud and… I dread to think of what other things. Your mistake was understandable,” Saaga says and smiles sheepishly.

”And you are very short for your race,” Tauriel agrees.

”That’s just one way of saying you hope there was more of me. And why wouldn’t you? I’m swell,” Saaga smirks, easily slipping into confident-mode as she was feeling nervous under the surface. Tauriel seems to understand though and does not point it out.

Next Tauriel turns almost hesitant as if carefully forming a sentence in her head.

”What is it like?” The elf finally asks, turning her back towards Saaga, walking down yet another staircase. Her autumn colored hair swings behind her back as if a waterfall made of pure fire. 

”Hm?”

”What is it like being in love with a dwarf?”

Saaga falters in her steps and has to close her eyes for a second. She has always been such a bad liar; she seriously needed to concentrate on her performance and stop gaping at the beauty of the castle of Woodland Realm and at Tauriel.

”It’s... very different. At least if you compare it to being in love with a man,” Saaga lies and manages to surprise herself with the smoothes of her voice. ”They treat you like a diamond.”

”They treat you like a stone?” Tauriel sounds appalled and throws a look over her shoulder.

”You misunderstand,” Saaga snorts in amusement. ”What I meant is, they will treat you like you’re the most precious thing in the whole wide world.” Saaga tries desperately to bring forth her memories of the conversation with Óin. Best lies are the ones with a hint of truth after all. ”They will protect their women to their graves if they must, for having a woman in the family is considered to be a blessing from their god.”

”I see,” Tauriel says with furrowed eyebrows and seems to process the information carefully.

Why the elf has such curiousness towards the subject in the first place, Saaga could hardly fathom.

”And he loves you despite the fact that you are of a different race?”

”I like to think so,” Saaga tries to say with as much warmth as she can muster. ”You seem very curious?"

There is a slight tenseness in the elf’s shoulders and it makes Saaga quirk an eyebrow. She could recognize that hesitant, almost embarrassed posture anywhere. High school had taught her enough.

”Tauriel,” Saaga says and hurries her steps to catch up with the female elf and walk beside her instead of behind her. ”I’m a woman as well, I know that look. Come on, it’s just us girls here: talk to me.”

_Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Direct the questions away from yourself!_

”I asked merely out of curiousness. Think nothing of it.”

”Hm, no… There’s something else.” Pursing her lips Saaga wrecks her brain. Then a lightbulb lights up in her head. ”Oh,” she whispers to Tauriel’s horror, ”which one of them caught your attention?”

”No one. You speak nonsense.”

But Saaga cannot let this go just like that. If she has chosen the wrong dwarf to go with her plan, Tauriel was probably going to be much less understanding. Did she really have to go and throw this whole elves-hate-dwarves-thing into the wind right now?

The worst. Timing. Ever.

”So, who is it?” Saaga asks, faking excitement. It was not too difficult given that she was actually quite curious. "Even though you’re a fierce warrior I doubt Dwalin is your type.”

Tauriel shoots her an disbelieving look that make Saaga's lips twist.

”Right, not him then. Thorin? He is very handsome.”

”And as stubborn as a old mule,” Tauriel mutters which provokes a startled laugh out of the brown haired woman.

”That he is, but you’re then agreeing that he _is_ indeed handsome?”

”Well,” Tauriel cocks her head, considering it more seriously than Saaga had thought would be possible for an elf, ”perhaps. He is not the worst I’ve seen.”

”But not handsome enough, huh? Who is it then? Don’t keep me guessing.”

”Truly, I was just wondering. No one has caught my eye. My question was simply prompted by my… conversation with that archer.”

”Kíli?” Saaga confirms and Tauriel sends her a quick and careful look. She mouths the name silently as if pressing it into her memory. In all its innocence it makes Saaga smile.

”You fancy Kíli?”

”I wouldn’t say _that_. I find him… refreshingly different.”

”Uh-huh,” Saaga nods and sucks her lower lip in amusement.

”We don’t get very many visitors, you see. He is interesting.”

”Uh-huh.”

”Oh, stop it,” Tauriel says but cannot help the involuntary smile that breaks through her calm demeanor.

”You know what,” Saaga says before she changes her mind, ”I have missed this. When you travel with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit, all male, you start to miss other women. I mean the company is great, they are all great… but still.”

Tauriel does not agree or disagree but sends her a understanding smile which Saaga hesitantly returns. She has no heart to tell Tauriel that Kíli most likely won’t be interested, no matter how pretty she is. The hate of elves just seems to be carved too deeply into the backbone of the dwarves.

”Kíli is wonderful,” Saaga whispers remorsefully - as if that was going to make things any easier.

Finally their long walk comes to an end as they reach the dungeons side by side instead of Tauriel dragging her along. Breathing out in relief, Saaga leaps to the first cell in her excitement. Her grin is huge as she clings to the bars.

”Hey, big guy.”

”Lass!” Dwalin climbs to his feet, looking very pleased but at the same time surprised to see her. ”You’re alright.”

”Of course I am. Is everyone okay?”

”Aye, we are,” the warrior informs her but shuts his mouth the second he sees Tauriel. His eyes narrow in suspicion and he continues in Khuzdûl, clearly leaving Tauriel out of the conversation.  **"What are ya doing here? Where are they taking ya?"**

 **"Oh, you know,"**  Saaga smirks, enjoying Dwalin’s suspicious glare he sends towards the elf, quietly celebrating the fact that this made it seem even more convincing that the dwarves considered Saaga their kin as she spoke their language.  **"I just came to say hello. To see that you're all behaving yourselves."**

”Shall we?” Tauriel prompts and Saaga nods at her, waving at Dwalin with her bound hands. _I’ll see you soon, don’t worry_  she tires to mouth him but is not sure if the message is received successfully. Dwalin just curls his hands around the prison bars and continues to look after the woman with worry, even after she disappears from his line of sight.

They stop in front of the next cell and Tauriel helps the smaller woman out of the ropes. Saaga cannot quite help the urge so she gently takes the elf’s hands between her own, looking up to her in newfound respect. Her conscience was making her heart contract painfully for being a liar. 

_I am the worst. Who knew I could be this deceiving?_

”Thank you, Tauriel,” Saaga says, squeezing Tauriel's elegant hands. She would have made one hell of a pianist with those. ”You have no idea how much this means to me. If I ever have a chance to repay you in any way, do not hesitate to ask. I’m serious.”

Her words are sincere even if the reason she had told the other for being here was not. Suddenly Saaga felt really bad about lying - don't get it wrong, she knew very well it was necessary but that didn't make her feel much better. If circumstances were different, maybe if Saaga had been dropped here instead of Rivendell, she and Tauriel could have been friends.

Maybe in different time, in different reality.

”I think I understand,” Tauriel smiles and her hands leave Saaga’s, her cool fingers sliding over Saaga's much rougher ones. ”Do not worry. I will come to you before morning. Everyone is busy tonight; no one will notice that you are gone.”

”Thank you,” Saaga whispers once more when Tauriel opens the cell door.

_Here we go. Show time._

Swallowing and preparing herself for what is to come, Saaga steps inside the gloomy prison. Fíli looks absolutely flabbergasted at seeing her and Saaga hopes Tauriel will write it off as being surprised to see her in this particular place.

”Saaga?”

”Fíli, my love!” Saaga says with as much warmth as she can while she wears her sternest _don't-ask-_ _just-go-with-this_ face.

Fíli just stares at the human with a whole another level of incredulousness, his head doing that little twisting motion that indicated confusion. He was standing in the middle of the small room as their unexpected appearance had startled him up on his feet. The dwarf had been stripped down to his boots, pants and a thick undershirt, and he looked like he had fought his way right through the treatment. Fìli's hair was messed up and there were smudges of dirt all over his worried face, not to mention that some strands of that golden hair had been clumped into dark strips, held together by dried, caked blood.

Saaga could hear nothing from behind them as she continues to eye up Fíli's condition, which meant that Tauriel was still standing behind the closed cell door. Because Saaga knew elves had been blessed with superhuman hearing, she doesn't even dare to _try_  and whisper her explanation to Fíli for Tauriel would surely hear, figure out her carefully planned hoax, and drag the human right back into confinement. The female elf was seriously too curious for her own good. With the way things were, this situation left Saaga with exactly one option. She could only hope Fíli would forgive her for it.

Cheeks flaming Saaga strides to the golden haired dwarf - who still continued to stare at her with a deep frown - even as Saaga bends down and firmly plants her lips over his.

It's very silent in the cell. It's like everyone is holding their breath. Saaga could hear water dripping somewhere in the distance.

Fíli and Saaga stare at each other as well as they can on this proximity in the gloomy light: Saaga challengingly and hoping to send a message across, and Fíli with widened blue eyes. In fact his eyes are almost crossed in bewilderment. Saaga has to swallow her amused laughter at his stunned expression.

_Sorry, man._

Tauriel was still not moving though.

_Oh hell. Fuck it._

Letting herself relax a fraction, shoulders slumping and eyelids turning heavy, Saaga moves her lips tentatively against Fíli’s even though his mustache tickles and cold metal beads feel foreign on her chin. They simultaneously suck in a breath through their noses, Fíli's inhale sharp from surprise. When Fíli draws in another quick, stunned breath - like he couldn't quite believe this was truly happening - Saaga turns her head sideways, presses closer and moulds their mouths more firmly in place.

This wasn't so bad. Not bad at all.

Then Fíli tries to take a step backwards but Saaga forces him into a stop, clinging onto his shirt desperately. Pushing her away was definitely not normal partner behaviour and they needed to keep this act together even if it killed them. Fíli halts, but manages to jerk his head backwards, separating them enough to form incredulous but thankfully soundless _what_ with his mouth.

_Shit. Shit, we do not have time for this._

Saaga swallows, her expression shifting into pleading. Her mouth forms the word _please_ as her eyes shift between Fíli’s blue ones.

_Please. Please, trust me. I know this is not what you want, but I beg you, just for a second, pretend that you like me._

Fíli stares at her before his eyes flick over Saaga’s shoulder towards Tauriel and realization seems to sink in. He nods with a tiny, determined movement. Saaga sends a quick thank you to Mahal for making Fíli such a smart person.

Then Saaga’s skin rises on goosebumps and her entire body flushes warm. 

Fíli had always been such a gentle, playful guy, Saaga hadn't thought of him being capable of having this kind of expression.

Fíli’s eyes turn so bloody focused and intense, perhaps even more intense than Thorin’s, and he looks ready to attack, to pounce, like a lion that has it’s eyes locked on it’s prey and knows exactly what it’s doing, knows without a doubt that it’s going to _win_. He was going to _crush_ her. Saaga was going to get  _devoured._ The hungry, cocky, confident smirk that is all teeth, the one that Saaga had been so attracted to in the first place, makes a shot of adrenaline rush into her veins and head swim and blood boil into a point that the back of her neck and palms start sweating.

_He is going at this seriously, isn't he?_

And Saaga might have underestimated the degree of appeal she held for the dwarf.

She has never been very confident when it came to physical fighting, had never held any real appeal for it but now, looking at Fíli like this, ready to _hunt_ , she _wants_  to fight down to teeth and nail. If Fíli was going to push, she was going to push right back. He better not be underestimating her.

Saaga wants to yank and tear and pull at that golden hair until it’s a mess and Fíli is groaning; wants to destroy those perfect braids at the corner of his mouth; wants to back him up against the wall of this stupid dungeon and ravish his mouth until they both pass out; wants Fíli to _fight her_  like the warrior he is and bodily lift her up and slam her against that same wall and bite marks on her skin and tear her shirt off and continue on her chest; she wants to fight and bite and scratch back; wants to palm his muscles through his shirt and squeeze him through his trousers; wants gasp against his ear _you stupid, gorgeous dwarf, why didn’t we figure this out before, why didn’t we do this before, if you dare to drop me, dare to give in even an inch, I will fight to **win** , I will fight back until I have **you**  underneath me, gasping and panting, and we’ll see how’d you like **that** -.._

Saaga isn’t exactly sure what kind of face she makes but it is enough to make Fíli's eyes narrow at the challenge.

And fuck, if that wasn't the sexiest thing she had seen in her entire life she didn't know what was.

Fíli moves, Saaga moves, and they collide with the force of a car crash, like the whole thing had been as unavoidable, as fated to happen and just as destructive. Fíli kisses like a predator, like he wants to kill Saaga with the force of kisses, and dammit if Fíli wasn’t larger than life at that moment, all firm and unyielding and made of muscle and pure power. But Saaga wasn't ready to give in an inch.

This wasn’t her first kiss, far from it, but it is the best fucking thing ever.

She has found her match. The clear thought almost makes Saaga's knees buckle before she steels herself and goes for a counter-attack, consisting of her doing exactly what she had dreamed about: sinking her fingers into Fíli’s hair at the back of his head and _pulling_  until there’s no space, until their mouths couldn’t get any closer, until their noses rub together and they gasp into their kiss. Saaga is ruthless, her mouth all teeth and bite, and Fíli matches that with a firm strokes of his tongue that make Saaga shake with a full-body shudder. She can feel Fíli smirking right into the kiss, turning her thoughts into  _this handsome bastard, who the fuck taught you to kiss like that_ , as his large hands burn finger marks on Saaga’s hips through her tunic, and then they are pressing against the small of her back, and now there’s no room _anywhere_  and Fíli feels _amazing_  pressed against her like that and _fuck_ , she’s probably going to die and burn into crisp because Fíli had the force and scalding burn of an erupting volcano but Saaga couldn’t have cared less.

Saaga was a woman but even women could lust like men. That was something she had learned a long time ago.

Finally there is a sharp, loud intake of breath and Tauriel is walking away. She wasn't exactly running but her steps were hasty enough to make people wonder.

With embarrassedly lewd, wet smack Saaga separates her mouth from Fíli’s, turning to look over her shoulder to make sure the elf was gone. She is breathing heavily, still clutching at the dwarf. There is no one to be seen so Saaga disentangles her hands from Fíli's hair and steps backwards, raising the said hands in surrender. Her cheeks are still aflame as lust curls warmly into her lower body, not yet letting her from its grip. The feeling was strange and intoxicating. It had been a long time since someone had managed to raise such feelings inside her. With a slightly trembling hand Saaga wipes her mouth, her brown eyes fixed on Fíli.

This shouldn't have affected her this much. They were just pretending, weren't they?

Weren't they?

Fíli is breathing just as hard and he swallows before his expression turns into one demanding an explanation. He has a healthy red hue on his face which was not helping. Now Saaga just wanted to kiss him all over again. In the end Saaga waves those thoughts away and shrugs theatrically with open arms. The footsteps of Tauriel disappear and after another careful look over her shoulder, Saaga relaxes. When she turns around, Fíli is glaring at her with an expression that makes her cringe. 

”Sorry,” Saaga whispers and cannot help but crack a pained smile. Her lips burn from the kisses.

”What was _that_?” Fíli demands to know, crossing his thick arms. Saaga almost punches herself in the face when there thoughts reel towards  _those felt so good around her hips, I wonder if he could actually lift me against the wall-_

”Uh, desperate times, desperate measures?” Saaga tries and rolls on her heels nervously. Her face is bright red.

If Fíli was going to be mad at her, Saaga was not sure how she was going to handle the situation. And he had a right to be which just made things worse. After all, no one should have to be subjected under such theatrics before agreeing to it.

”What was that about?”

”Uh,” Saaga furrows her eyebrows. ”What?”

”Don't make me repeat myself. You know very well what I'm talking about.”

”Oh, right the kissing,” she eyes the walls of the prison with sudden interest. ”Almost forgot about that already. On the other hand, what do you think these walls are made of? Looks sturdy.”

”Saaga,” Fíli growls in warning and without meaning to do it, make Saaga shudder and gnaw at her lip. Fíli should seriously stop with that tone of voice unless he wanted to continue where they left off. ”What is going on here? Where have you been?”

”Well, eating mostly. Took a bath. Did you know elves use flower-scented shampoo?”

Fíli does not look as impressed as Saaga had hoped. Sighing, the northern woman takes a seat on the only bench in the room and directly meets Fíli's eyes.

”Right, look. I am sorry, Fíli. I wholeheartedly apologize for taking advantage of you,” the woman says sincerely, a hand above her heart, "but I had to convince Tauriel to bring me down here.”

Now even Fíli looks interested. His arms uncross and his posture relaxes a notch. When he takes his turn wiping at his mouth, Saaga turns her eyes away.

”What’s going on?”

”The main question of the evening, huh?” Saaga harrumphs which makes the dwarf smile just a tiny bit as well. The brunette waves him to come closer, now looking more excited than shaken. Saaga checks over her shoulder once more that no one is there standing outside their cell, and cups her hand around her mouth. Fíli obediently takes a seat next to her. ”We’re going to escape.”

Fíli's eyebrows shoot upwards. Then that lovely, cocky smirk makes an reappearance.

”We are?”

”Oh yeah. Just wait and see.”

A considering look appears on his face. He quirks an eyebrow, looking smug.

”What does that have to do with kissing? Couldn’t keep your hands off of me, huh?”

Now that he was sitting next to her and they were speaking in hushed tones, Fíli shoves his shoulder playfully against hers. The woman snorts, relieved that Fíli didn't seem to be too cross with her. Relief unties a knot deep in her belly.

”Yeah, right. No, I had to convince Tauriel that since today is the Feast of Starlight I wanted to spend the night with… uh, you’re probably not gonna like this but… with my lover.”

”Oh, I’m your lover now am I?” Fíli comments with completely faked surprise.

”Sorry!” Saaga moans quietly. ”You were just the first name I blurted out. Please, don’t be mad.”

Fíli hangs his shaking head and his golden locks fall to hide his expression. For a second Saaga is worried the dwarf was crying or something of the sort. Even his shoulders are moving.

_What the hell am I going to do? What do you do with a crying man? Pat him on the back? Hug him? Slap his arse?_

Saaga had no idea.

Thank god it is nothing of the sort as Fíli again raises his face and looks at Saaga with twinkling eyes. He is trembling with quiet laughter and his words come out as a huff.

”I can’t believe you managed to pull that off. By Mahal's balls, you’re the worst liar ever and still you managed to trick _an elf_.”

”Well I’m glad you find it entertaining,” Saaga snorts and rolls her murky eyes towards the roof. Fíli is wiping a hand over his face, laughter still dancing on his facial features. He shakes his head.

”So, this brilliant plan of yours. How are we going to get out?”

”Bilbo is going to steal the keys and help us escape. If he doesn’t succeed though… well, we’ll just rot here forever then.”

And Saaga will be forced to consider Thranduil’s deal once more. No thank you. This better work.

”So, our fate lies on the shoulders of our burglar.”

”Yep,” Saaga says, popping the sound with her mouth.

"So for now we can do nothing but wait?"

"Yep."

They quietly sit there for a moment, Saaga looking out from between the bars for Bilbo while Fíli is scanning her with his gaze from the corner of his eye. The dwarf relaxes slowly, last of the remaining tenseness seeping out of his muscles.

”You seem to be in good health,” he finally informs the woman of his observation.

”Bath and proper food does miracles. Could use one yourself, you know. I could have just sniffed my way over here, no guidance needed.”

Fíli booms a low laugh at her, corners of his eyes crinkling.

”Maybe it was my manly scent that lead you here. Maybe you should be thanking me.”

”Manly scent, my ass,” Saaga giggles just as quietly. ”Very funny.”

”I’m always funny,” Fíli quips.

Saaga’s lips twitch upwards at that. How had she managed to get such wonderful friends in this huge mess that people call life, Saaga had no idea. Twice has Fíli now forgiven her for actions that the men she had known in her old world would have held a grudge on. All the dwarves seem to be like that: full of warmth and acceptance and fierce loyalty to their closest ones. They were as swift in their making of enemies as they were in making of friends. The idea that the company members might one day consider Saaga to be the latter of those brings a huge grin on her face.

”Are you alright?”

Grinning like a moron the woman covers her glowing face behind her hands, trying to force the smile off but not quite managing. She sneaks a peek at her friend from in between her fingers.

”Fine. Fine! I was just thinking how lucky I was to stumble upon you guys.”

”Seriously?” Fíli mutters in amused disbelief. ”You’ve been almost killed about a hundred times and still you say that?”

”Stop ruining my happy moment,” Saaga mutters back, lips still spread into that ridiculous grin. Finally she sobers, eyeing Fíli with consideration and a bit of worry. She gnaws at her lower lip before gathering her wits to ask a question that has been bothering her for a while now.

”Hey… I didn’t steal your first kiss or anything, did I?”

Now it’s Fíli’s turn to snort. The last remaining hues of red linger on the tips of his large ears and Saaga has a sudden desire to trace them with her fingertips. Shocked, the woman tears her gaze somewhere else.

”Nah. I think you already know the answer to that.”

Yes. Yes, she indeed did. 

"Right."

”What?” Fíli asks, stroking a hand across his face. ”It's not like you were a first-timer either.”

”Hm, no,” Saaga hums nonchalantly and turns to look out of their prison again. ”I've had some practice. Maybe enough for it not to be entirely proper. But we humans don't live that long, gotta make the most of it.” She smiles toothily at the dwarf.

”That’s common for… the people of your race, right? You kiss a lot?”

”Well, it is a pleasant experience.”

”Do you have anyone waiting for you in the North? Should I be prepared to protect myself from angry suitors from now on? Any death-threats I should prepare myself for?”

Saaga laughs at the ridiculousness of the idea.

”Heavens, no. I have no one like that waiting for me. The only one waiting for me are my parents,” Saaga says and to the woman's surprise her throat closes up with emotion. ”...just my parents.”

Fíli eyes her curiously from under his eyebrows.

”You miss them?”

”Of course I do. Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?”

”My **mother** ,” Fíli says with a faint smile. ”She really didn’t want me and Kíli joining this quest but we are old enough to decide for ourselves. Letting Kíli go was especially hard for her.”

”Well, he is her baby, no doubt,” Saaga smiles in response.

”And will always be. She’d probably still give him goodnight kisses if Kíli weren’t so embarrassed to receive them.” Fíli is smiling with fondness, clearly lost in his memories.

”She sounds wonderful, your mother. What’s her name?”

”Dís,” Fíli says quietly. ”Her name is Dís.”

 

* * *

 

They spend the evening talking in hushed tones, just the two of them. Fíli entertains her with stories from the Blue Mountains and of his and Kíli’s childhood. Apparently they had been a menace at the mountains; the well-known pair to create all kinds of chaos.

Saaga listens to his rumbling voice, eyes half shut and jaw leaning on her knees that are tucked under her chin. She spends the time eyeing Fíli’s braids and asking for their meaning, and pokes the metal beads in his hair after the other’s permission to touch them. Fíli stays absolutely still when Saaga runs his braids through her fingers, softly this time, and admires the fine texture. Then he stops breathing altogether when Saaga's finger slides over the braid next to his mouth. She quickly withdraws her hand.

"Sorry. That was improper. They're just so nicely done."

Fíli shrugs, the side of his mouth quirking upwards. They are both a bit too warm, so Saaga turns to look for Bilbo and Fíli seems to suddenly think the opposite wall is the most interesting thing in the universe.

In a way the evening almost reminds Saaga of her own friends in her own world. They had used to cuddle up on the couch, drink some wine and talk long into the night. Somehow talking to Fíli like this was her way of replacing that empty space in her heart, left behind by old friends. Except with her friends Saaga hadn't had this itch, this unyielding urge, to draw them in and get more of those messy kisses that were more of a fight than an embrace.

_You really need to stop thinking about it. It was all pretense._

”I’ll wager the sun is on the rise. Must be nearly dawn,” Bofur yells suddenly, sounding tired to the bone. It makes Saaga startle to her feet and rush to the bars, her knees creaking in protest from the long sit.

”Bofur!” She tries to whisper loudly. ”Bofur, is that you?”

”Lass! Hey, lady Saaga is here!”

”She is?”

”When did that happen?”

”Lady Saaga, it’s so good to see ya!”

”Ya can’t see her, ya old fool.”

”Hmpf. It’s good to hear yer voice though!”

"I'm surprised ya even managed that."

”Are ya okay?” Bofur continues, ignoring the ever bickering Óin and Glóin.

”I’m fine! Is everyone okay?”

”Aye, we are!” Ori joins in which makes Saaga sigh contently. It would seem she has developed a soft-spot for the young scribe. ”But what does it matter… We’re never going to reach that mountain, are we? We’re trapped. No offense, I’m glad we’re now all trapped _together_ , but…”

Saaga shares a suffering look with Fíli. She cannot just yell their plan into the air, right? The northerner is tempted though, despite the fact that there might be guards nearby. She would do anything to lift her friends' spirits for the woman cannot stand to look at the dwarves when they are so down. Their surrender in the situation feels almost unnatural. She needs them to stop sulking.

Suddenly, as if they are indeed blessed, the company can hear the faint clicking of keys.

This time Fíli and Saaga turn to look excitedly at each other like two children who are about to sneak a cookie out of their grandma’s kitchen. Their smiles slowly turn into full blown laughs and Saaga cannot help but take a hold of the other’s arm and shake it enthusiastically. Fíli allows her to release some of her excited energy into his poor limb before swatting her off. 

”Bilbo!”

”Master Baggins is here!”

”Shush,” the hobbit hushes them like a mother would her disobedient children, ”we don’t want anyone hearing!”

He opens Thorin’s cell first and their eyes meet. Thorin takes a hold of the Hobbit’s shoulder and surprised by the sudden closeness, Bilbo turns to face him. They stare at each other as if in a dream; as if they have all the time in the world. Thorin looks terrible in appearance, dirty and malnourished, but his blue eyes are heavily lidded and warm as he looks at their burglar.

”I knew you’d come,” Thorin says gruffly, a hesitant smile on his face. ”I never doubted for a second.”

The gentlehobbit is flushing right to the tips of his pointy ears and his lips twitch dangerously. One more friendly squeeze and Bilbo is forced to continue on his way. Every dwarf looks right about ready to give him a big smooch when he lets them out. Inevitably he comes to Saaga’s and Fíli’s cell, letting the happy pair out.

”It seems it worked,” Bilbo remarks and smiles at his friend.

”It did,” Saaga confirms as she walks out of the cell, Fíli following right behind her. Kíli, who has been already let out and was about to run past them, stops and looks at them in bafflement.

”What was she doing in your cell, Fíli?”

The golden haired dwarf gives his little brother a teasing grin. He grasps Kíli's shoulder and arches one majestic eyebrow.

”I’ll explain it when you’re older.”

Saaga almost trips over her own feet.

Without an explanation Fíli swaggers off to their king, leaving Kíli utterly confused with furrowed eyebrows and mouth working but no sound coming out. Next, Kíli's eyes land on Saaga and the young woman cannot quite contain the need to join in the teasing. The Finn flicks her hair and sends Kíli a teasing smile over her shoulder as if she was in one of those strangely cheeky shampoo commercials. With a wink Saaga walks after Fíli with just as much swagger in her steps.

_Chew on that, love._

”What just happened?” Kíli asks, pointing after them. ”Did anybody see that? What-?”

”Uh,” Bilbo says, stopping momentarily, ”we’ll explain later. Or not. You might not want to know, actually.”

Leaving it at that, Bilbo rushes past the dark haired dwarf who stares after the hobbit, completely bewildered and partly horrified.

”Not that way!” Bilbo corrects them when they are about to run up the stairs. He waves at them madly, telling them to follow him. ”Down here!”

”Down there?” Bombur asks Bilbo’s retreating back. ”How is that going to help us?”

”Just go!” Saaga says and pushes him along. The woman is still grinning from ear to ear from all the excitement. ”Hurry up, Bombur. You’re blocking the pathway.”

”Come on, brother”, Bofur coaxes him along. ”Trust the burglar!”

”Aye, trust Master Baggins!” Dori agrees while making pushing motions with his hands. With a worried mutter Bombur hurries after the hobbit.

They sneak down the stairs and across the wide hallways but there is no one in sight. The elves must have one hell of a party going on upstairs. With a twist of lips Saaga wonders what is Thranduil like when drunk. She does not dare to even imagine; the picture is simply too incomprehensible. When they came to the end of the stairs the company is met by the sight of two elven guards passed out on the table. If the empty wine goblets were anything to go by, they were not waking anytime soon.

”This way,” Bilbo whispers and waves at them to come along. Kíli was having none of it, looking at the guards anxiously.

”I can’t believe this. We’re in the cellars.”

”You were supposed to be leading us out, not further in!” Bofur joins in now that the anxiousness seems to have reached him as well.

”I know what I’m doing,” the hobbit argues confidently. ”Come on now!”

So they go because they don’t have much of a choice. The company pretty much tiptoes behind stacks of empty barrels, sneaking peeks at the passed out guards.

”Everyone”, Bilbo announces with hands on his hips, ”climb into the barrels quickly.”

Dwalin looks angry at that, worry creating tense lines on his wide shoulders.

”Are you mad? They’ll find us,” he growls, giving Bilbo a hard look. The hobbit is shaking his head furiously, eyes begging them to do as he said. They do not have much time and certainly not enough time to convince anyone with logic. Blind trust seems to be the way to go.

”No. No they won’t, I promise. Please, you must trust me. Just get into the barrels.”

Dwalin turns to look at Thorin, fully expecting him to knock some sense into the small man. Instead, their king is looking at Bilbo with searching eyes. Seeming to find what he was looking for, the king then orders them all to do as the gentlehobbit says with a sharp command that leaves no room for counterarguments. Saaga helps in whatever way she was capable, helping her friends climb into the highest barrels and holding Bofur’s hat so it doesn't get in the way.

When they are done, Bilbo and Saaga step back to admire their work. The dwarves look at them expectantly, head popping out from each barrel. They look like curious animals in a pet shop.

_And I'd take you all home with me if I could._

”What about you, Saaga?” Kíli asks, still half-way climbing into the barrel. ”Where are you gonna fit? You want to share?”

Laughing quietly at the mental image of that, Saaga pats the young dwarf on his head affectionally.

”I’m on the swim-team with Bilbo. Don't worry about me. Just hold on tight, alright? And get that big head of yours in.”

”Swim-what?”

Still laughing, Saaga pushes Kíli - who is very much trying to swat her hand off - wholly into the barrel. Then the woman walks next to Bilbo, who was standing by a leaver.

”Would you like to do the honor, my lady?”

”Oh no,” Saaga raises her palms up, ”this is all on you, mate. You have the honor.”

”What do we do now?” Bofur asks nervously, holding tightly onto his hat. Bilbo almost smirks at that which makes Saaga giggle and swing on her heels. She quite likes this mischievous streak of the hobbit. When Saaga catches the eye of worried Nori, she sends him a cheeky wink which seems to relax the thief a little bit and crawl even deeper into the barrel.

”Hold your breath.”

”Hold my breath?” Bofur says confusedly. ”What do you mean?”

Bilbo pulls the leaver as an answer.

It is a choir of low, terrified shouts as the floor gives away and the barrels start rolling. They bump against each other, wood creaking and banging, dwarves desperately trying to hold on for their dear lives. Finally each and every one of them has fallen into the river and the floor smacks shut.

_Oh Thorin. How you must be regretting your placement of trust now._

Saaga laugh uncontrollably, taking a hold of the smaller man’s arm. The woman shakes it in her glee but because Bilbo is small, the movement makes him stumble. Their laughs are breathless by the end of it.

”We did it! We did it!” Saaga whispers heatedly, a wide grin on her face.

”Unbelievable. It worked!”

Then their breathing calms down, eyes locked with the floor.

”Bilbo?”

”Yes?”

”How are _we_ going to get out?”

Bilbo turns to look at her with a cringe.

”I didn’t think that far.”

Saaga sighs at him. She rubs her the side of her nose. 

”What are we going to do now?”

”Well… We could just..” Bilbo looks at the wooden floor studiously. ”I think… come on, now.”

The hobbit drags Saaga forward by her sleeve and right to the edge of the planks. Carefully they nudge the floor with their big toes as they move. They are rudely interrupted from the nerve-wrecking task however, as they can hear the elven guards approaching. Someone has noticed their escape. Going by the shouting, the elves weren't too happy with them.

”Oh shit, shit, shit, shit…”

”Language!”

”Sorry.”

Rushed footsteps of the elves were clearly getting closer. Bilbo and Saaga hastily make their way backwards, gripping at each other’s clothes in fear, eyes glued to the staircase. The woman even lays her arm over Bilbo’s shoulders protectively.

Hopefully the elves have not been instructed to shoot them on sight.

Without warning the world tilts on it's axis. Followed by a yell their feet slip as gravity pulls them downwards on the slide. Saaga has a second to meet Tauriel’s betrayed eyes before the floor disappears beneath their soles and they fall backwards into emptiness. Saaga screams, holding Bilbo tightly in her arms.

Then they hit the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a moment to leave a comment? I'd appreciate it a lot!


	13. Kuebiko part I

**Kuebiko:**   _A state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence._

 

During their short fall into the water Saaga has a second to contemplate her life choices.

The northern woman was not used to manipulating people in order to reach her goals and thus the betrayed look Tauriel had sent her had felt like a knife thrust into her chest. With her own hands, Saaga had probably destroyed whatever chance she had had at becoming friends with the elf. Clearly Middle-earth was changing her. It had opened up paths before her that had always been beyond her consideration. Here, all the choices one makes defined the person, and Saaga wasn't necessarily sure she liked the person she was turning into.

Well, true, Nori was a full-time, proper, no nonsense-thief, but now well respected amongst the company for having decided to use his skills in their advantage. Bilbo was a gentlehobbit, prone to favor good dinner and a laugh over an adventure, but here he was and nobody had a thing to say about it after they had witnessed his bravery. There was Thorin, a king without a crown and without a mountain, but ready to risk his own life to win it back. And Kíli and Fíli, ready to follow until death would force them apart.

In this particular group of people, how could Saaga ever even dream of getting on their level?

She wasn't powerful or strong, and even on her best days she was hardly the sharpest pencil in the case. 

In here - in Middle-earth - Saaga was starting to feel more and more terrified of what kind of a woman she was forced to turn into. Moments when Saaga had felt like she was not good enough, brave enough, or smart enough, had lead her to do things she had always had firm principles against. And yet, it had felt so easy to go downhill. Hell, Saaga had almost asked Bilbo for the ring. It had felt temptingly easy to get out of a pinch by lying and manipulating; she had convinced _Tauriel_ by lying and manipulating.

Now the choices Saaga had had to make were a heavy weight on her shoulders, like an anchor pulling her down and making her body feel sluggish and powerless. She had always thought herself to be a respectable woman, but now... things were clearly changing and not necessarily for the better.

But when you think about it, Saaga had always been a right mess and Tauriel a work of art. What chance at being friends had they actually had in the beginning?

Probably none.

With that thought, Saaga’s back hits the water while Bilbo is still secured in her arms. It feels like hitting a cement floor.

Breath rushes out of her in bubbles that cover her field of vision and rush past her ears. Bilbo was wriggling in her arms so reluctantly Saaga lets go of her smaller friend. Hands waving, the brunette struggles to reach the surface as well, her tunic and boots heavy with water. The water was cold but not impossibly so. Thankfully it was still summertime.

The woman pierces the surface and spits water out of her mouth in a graceful arch. Saaga shakes her head like a wet dog and grimaces. Maybe this hadn't been the brightest of ideas - she hadn't remembered how tiring it was to swim in full clothing. Already they felt like weights on which she was tied down and which were trying to pull her into the deep.

Thankfully all the dwarves seem to be okay despite their _surprise!-were-are-escaping-in-barrels-_ drop. They were waiting for Saaga and Bilbo, floating in their barrels, smiles relieved but still looking like half-drowned rats.

Apparently they had already forgiven the way Bilbo and Saaga had planned the escape, and in Saaga’s mind that was all and well, as she and the hobbit had definitely pulled the shortest straws when it came to comfortability. When the soaked pair reach the rest of the company, they grab a hold on the barrel’s side to float there next to the dwarves. Little by little their breathing calms down.

”Well done, Master Baggins!” Thorin congratulates the small man who waves the compliment off with a shake of his hand. Saaga cannot even be mad about being forgotten. Bilbo and Thorin seem to have some kind of admiration competition going on where they only had eyes for each other. She hardly wanted to get in the middle of it.

”Well done, lass”, Dori smiles at her from the barrel Saaga is hanging on to. The older dwarf looks like a disaster with his mussed, wet hair and undone braids but happy regardless of all of it.

”We’re not out yet. The guards are coming, we saw them! We need to move,” Saaga informs the others and starts swimming Dori’s barrel forward, pushing it along. The rest of the company members seem to manage to paddle up some speed and soon they were going off with the current. It was completely uncontrollable way of traveling, causing Saaga to be constantly afraid of being squished in between the wooden barrels. Just to be on the safe side, she voluntarily takes the place as the last on the line.

Thorin yells something at them from the front line but the words are drowned into the whoosh of surging water. Saaga turns her head, brown hair whipping her face, and sees dwarves disappearing one by one from her sight.

_Well, fuck._

Saaga is reluctant to let go of the barrel as it is her floating lifeline but does so anyway. If she is dropped on it - or worse, the barrel on her - she was going to become a drowned human-pancake. Hopefully the same thought has crossed Bilbo’s mind. 

Adrenaline hums heavily in her veins as Dori disappears with a shout. The brunette takes a big gulp of air and prepares herself, legs uselessly kicking against the flow, but nothing can _really_ get her ready for the fall.

With a high-pitched scream Saaga hurtles through the air, the current giving her way more speed that was necessary, causing her to come down shoulder first in a uncontrollable spin. The air is automatically knocked out of her, and then the current is mercilessly throwing her body around and around, as the bubbling sound of water drowns everything underneath it. The Finn manages to take another gulp of air before hitting a rock, crying out from the pain in her knee, inhaling some water and then being pulled under the surface again.

Saaga was going to drown if this kept up.

Then there is a firm grip on the back of her tunic as Bifur pulls her to his barrel. Hacking out water, Saaga forms a death-grip on Bifur’s shoulders and the dwarf sneaks his arms around her chest from under her arms. For a second Saaga just dazedly allows the toymaker to embrace her, her cheek resting against his muscular arm and breath coming out in deep, rattling huffs.

” **Are you alright?** ”

Saaga coughs up a few more times before humming in agreement.

” **You saved my life** ,” the Finn mutters and cringes as the barrel hits another rock and twirls them around.

” **It was my pleasure** ,” Bifur laughs gruffly at her and pats her back a few times. ” **Can you swim?** ”

” **I thought I did. But nothing could have prepared me for this ride** ,” Saaga laughs miserably. Bifur pats her head again and only lets go when he was certain the woman had a firm grip.

As they float down the river, a loud sound of a horn pierces the air. From the clear sound of it they can deduce that it is an elven warning horn. With a heavy heart the company members watch as the gate of the river is closed right before they reach it. It was a miserable sight. Thorin desperately smacks his fist against it and roars in frustration. They were so close and _yet so far_.

When they are all gathered neatly into a stack of barrels underneath the gate, the elven guards draw their swords in unison. Saaga almost sobs at the sight, heaving herself higher on the barrel to keep her hold. Was this really as far as they could get?

Then an arrow is shot to the back of an elf guard.

Saaga stutters a breath at the sight, her brown eyes widening, and heart throbbing in her throat so furiously it was about to cloak it up. The elf whose face is hidden behind his skillfully engraved helmet falls as if in slow motion, his limp body hitting the water with a splash. The elf’s face might have been even more beautiful than his armor but now it was forever lost to the world. Such a waste.

The water that hits the woman’s face feels warm, and for a second Saaga is terrified of being covered in blood. It is merely a hallucination of her freaked out mind but it sends her only deeper into hysteria. Scared, Saaga squirms and swims out of the way of the floating body and around the barrel. Bifur doesn’t even notice, being too busy looking for the new enemy.

Only to make things worse, the creature that crawls into the company’s sight over the gate looks like it has climbed out of hell just to greet them personally. It croons at them, head cocking sideways. It’s yellowish eyes narrow into slits and a tongue peeks out to hungrily lick the air as if tasting it. More of them follow, all dressed in dirty black, their skin grey and covered in scars and painful-looking piercings.

Saaga had only ever seen orcs from a safe distance. Even the meeting before the Carrock had been turned into hazy memory as her Plunge of Doom had mostly been the part to occupy her thoughts. She had very much preferred things to stay that way.

The remaining of the elven guards put up a honorable fight but they are easily over-powered by sheer numbers of the orcs. There must be over twenty of them, leaping and running towards them. For now at least; more were sure to follow.

With a shudder Saaga realizes the company members don't even have their weapons with them. It seemed like the perfect time to start panicking.

Saaga shudders violently, hot tears springing into her eyes as the black, orcish swords are thrust through the remaining elven guards. The sound the sword makes when piercing flesh and armor was something she would have nightmares about. When the orcs reach the company, the dwarves are forced to use bodily force to knock them out. Saaga can hear stomach sickening crunches as noses are broken, and stolen orc-weaponry finds their way into their previous owners.

A shadow falls upon her and Saaga has just enough time to raise her gaze before one of those ugly bastards leaps on top of her. The orc’s heavy body severs Saaga’s grip on Bifur’s barrel. She sinks beneath the surface with the enemy.

_How is this my life? It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this at all!_

Forcing her eyes open in the water, Saaga meets the growling face of a monster. Of course there is no sound, as only bubbles escape from between the creature’s sharpened teeth, but it is fear inspiring enough. The orc’s tongue peeks out to taste the waters - to taste her sweat in the current - it’s face twisted by dark pleasure of seeing a helpless woman at it’s mercy.

Gathering her wits, Saaga’s expression turns determined. Water swirls all around her, making her squint her eyes. Hopefully she managed to look menacing rather than like she was about to burst out crying.

Her enemy was not human. It is a monster and it is going to kill her.

_Act, you fool of a woman!_

Gritting her teeth together Saaga curls her legs closer to her, knees to chest. With a sharp kick she sends both of her heels smack in the middle of the orc’s face. More bubbles escape and the creature pushes her feet off, as Saaga’s head surges above the waterline again. She breaths deeply a few times, meets the worried gaze of Bifur - who is in the middle of choking an orc - before Saaga is pulled down again. The toymaker shouts something after her.

The orc has a grip on her foot and Saaga furiously struggles against it, doing her best to kick the creature once again. The orc was not falling for the trick however, as its claw-like nails sink into the leather of her boots, then into the fabric of her pants, and scrape her flesh at the same time as it heaves itself closer to the young woman. Horrified by the act, Saaga aims to punch it. Unfortunately water slows her movements so much it is more like a pathetic slap. It seems to only fuel the creature’s anger. It had probably not calculated the possibility of the woman being ready to put up a fight.

It is a silent struggle between the two of them underneath the muddy waters. Saaga’s lungs burn as she claws the creature’s face blindly, hoping to sink her nails into it’s eyes. Then the orc manages to sneak it’s hands around her throat. It squeezes so hard it almost smashes Saaga’s windpipe.

With the desperate strength of a dying woman, Saaga mangles her hands between the orc’s wrists and pulls them sideways, off of her neck. The orc is so close, the human has time to smack her forehead against it’s. While her enemy is dazed from the sudden hit, Saaga crawls over it’s body like a underwater-monkey, onto it’s back and wraps her legs around the orc’s middle. With her arm the woman starts choking the thing, her other hand helping to hold her grip.

The orc writhes beneath her, those black fingers marking her arms with finger-shaped bruises. For a second Saaga’s face breaks the waterline again and she manages to gasp for more precious oxygen. However, the creature was wriggling so forcefully that they soon rolled over again, Saaga squeezing with her arm as hard as she could, eyes tightly shut and teeth gritted together, bubbles escaping from between. With the remaining strength the orc pulls at her hair and it’s sharp nail draws a wound right on Saaga’s cheek. She can’t even feel the pain in her adrenaline rush.

Finally, slowly, eventually - after what feels like a million years but is truly a few heartbeats - the orc stops moving. Wanting to be hundred percent sure that it’s gone, Saaga holds on as long as she can. Her lungs burn something fierce.

Using the orc’s body as a platform Saaga breaks the waterline with a deep gasp. Her hands wave and futilely paddle the water. Thank goodness she hadn't drifted under the barrels. The human coughs water out of her lungs, hands still flapping.

_What have I done? What have I done?!_

Someone strong takes a hold on the scruff of her neck and pulls her struggling body to a barrel. With her watery eyes Saaga can hardly see, breathing so deeply it hurts. There are large hands on the both sides of her head. The Finn’s hands tremble so badly she can barely keep her hold on the wooden barrel.

”I thought you drowned,” Dori shouts at her face, shaking her unfocused head between his hands cheerfully. ”Don’t ya ever do that again! You absolute madman! Woman! Just don’t so it again, alright-y, lass?”

”Can't breath,” Saaga rasps out. Another shadow leaps over them but this time it is Kíli falling straight into a empty barrel. His face is white as if a bag of flour has been thrown on it and the dwarf’s handsome, young face is scrunched in pain.

They have no time to inquire about the archer’s well-being as the current rushes them onwards. Kíli must have managed to open the gates in the middle of the chaos.

”Not again,” Saaga has time to mutter exasperatedly before they are plunged down yet another waterfall. Dori’s grip is so tight it must leave more hand and finger shaped bruises on her pale skin. The closeness to the barrel and the uncontrollable movement of the water causes Saaga’s face to smack against wood. Blood floods in her mouth the next second as her lip splits between the barrel and her teeth.

Iron. Her body tastes like iron.

They are hurtled down yet another waterfall, and Dori’s and the water’s roar mix together into loud noise. Saaga’s ears ring painfully, her legs limp from exhaustion and hands gripping the barrel for her dear life.

Orcs and elves are swarming over them like angry flock of bees, killing each other and pushing one another off into the roaring river. It was pure chaos. The dwarves do what they can with bare hands and few stolen weapons, but mostly they have to focus on not drowning. Next, one of those black monsters leaps off a tree and straight on them. Dori punches it off and steals it’s axe before Saaga can get out a sound. The older man is truly a sight to behold. Who knew he had such tricks hidden under his sleeve? Or that he was so limber for his age.

And as a plus, later Saaga will be able to gloat about not screaming in a pinch.

They are twirled around by more rocks and Saaga sends her quick thanks to the heavens for not being yet smashed into pieces between them. Her head spinning, Saaga stares incredulously as Bombur’s barrels rolls on the downhill right beside the river, knocking down enemies as he goes.

Dwarves were  _insane_. And kinda cool.

She barely has time to finish that thought before someone grasps a hold at the back of her tunic. With a surprised gasp Saaga is lifted in the air, her hands slipping on wet wood and legs kicking suddenly at nothing.

”What the-?!” Dori twirls around in his barrel and tries to circle his thick arms around Saaga’s middle. The old dwarf is too late however and the woman slips right through his grip.

”Lass!” Dori yells after the woman, the flow of the water forcing him further and further along with no sign of stopping or even slowing down. The poor girl was wriggling in the air, hands clawing at her tunic’s collar as it was pulled so tight it was choking her. Next the orc that had managed to grab the lady unceremoniously throws her towards the shore. She hits it back first, gasping in pain from the impact. Going right after it’s prey, the orc climbs down the tree that had conveniently bended over the river.

”Lass!” Dori roars once more, in fear this time around, which makes few of the dwarves turn their heads towards them.

”Saaga!” Kíli screams when he sees his friend going down, his hands futilely trying to paddle against the current despite the obvious pain the movement is causing. Nori and Óin see her too, watching the scene unfold with white faces.

There was simply nothing they could do as they were all stuck in barrels. The triumphant orc howls and jumps over the dazed woman, it’s knees knocking into her belly and hands wrapping around her throat. Saaga convulses under the thing, her back arching and hands flapping, clawing at the orc’s arms. It doesn't take long for her movements to slow down.

”Saaga!” Kíli screams once more in obvious desperation, before the scene is hidden from their sight by the riverbed. If one was to listen carefully enough, there was some pretty fierce Khuzdûl-cursing to be heard.

* * *

 

_When had sky turned so bright blue?_

The edges of Saaga’s vision are blurring out, her world sinking slowly into darkness. The river washed out any other sounds she might have heard, drowning her into its whooshing. Her skin prickles, feeling leaving her and coldness creeping in. Death had finally come to lay claim on her.

_What was it with orcs and their fascination with strangulation?_

The face filling the blue sky is all black apart from the thing’s yellowish eyes that narrowed down as it stared at her.

 _It's smiling_ , Saaga realizes with repulsion, _It is smiling as it is choking the life out of you._

Gagging, Saaga's brown eyes roll back in her skull, mouth opening and closing helplessly as if she was a fish on dry land. The Finn's hands slowly relax their grip on the dark creature’s own, skin slipping over skin, her arms hitting the ground limply while her lungs burn as if set on fire. Saaga's back arches for one final time. 

Suddenly the weight is gone and air flows freely. The brown eyes roll back and focus while her mouth gapes open. Saaga hacks and coughs violently, curling in on herself and nails sinking into the riverbed. She retches, gagging with pain, gastric acid and drool dripping down her chin.

” **What are you doing? Get the woman to the Master.** ”

” **But I wants it. I want to look her change color. She made Gorgoth breath water. It is only fair I gets to kill it!** ”

” **Shut the fuck up and do as you are told, you filthy fucktard.** ”

Gasping, Saaga turns on her back while breathing heavily, not even bothering to wipe her jaw. Her throat aches and spots still dance in her sight but she is now level-headed enough to feel the need to escape. Her chest heaves as she looks for an escape route. The two orcs turn to look down at the woman, scrambling backwards away from them on all fours. The larger one strides to her and instinctively Saaga covers before it. A heavy black boot slams against her stomach, punching all air out of her. She wheezes.

” **Make sure it doesn’t escape. These are slippy ones, these females.** ”

” **Can I cut at least it’s limbs off? So it doesn’t run, you see.** ”

The larger orc turns to look at the other contemplatively. His boot is still resting on Saaga’s belly and the woman can feel her own heart-beat against it. Saaga lies there helplessly, fingers spasming against the black shoe, searching for something to grab on to.

The bigger orc had dark grey skin, mattered with scars and few sad tufts of hair sprouting out of the top of it’s head. There is a line of metal circles piercing it’s skin, all the way from the side of it’s nose and across it’s cheek to the corner of it’s eye.

 _Please no_ , Saaga sobs inside her head, gaze shifting between the two orcs. Her split lower lip is trembling and wet blood drying on her chin. _Not the limbs._

” **It’ll bleed out. Just carry it. If you cut something off it, I’ll take double from you, you hear.** ”

Grumbling, the smaller orc crouches next to Saaga. It unfolds a rope from it’s waist and starts binding her wrists together.

”No!” Saaga screams, suddenly finding her voice. With the advantage of surprise, she manages to punch the smaller orc right on it’s nose. Her feet uselessly kick the air as she tries to wriggle it off. ”No, don’t you fucking touch me! Let me go! Let me go!”

Yelping in pain the dark creature turns away, massaging it’s nose with a small whimper. The big orc hovering above them both grunts in amusement, slowly leaning more weight on Saaga’s stomach. Eventually it makes her almost fold in half, her struggling ceasing from the pain.

” **You’re useless. Give it here.** ”

The big orc rips the rope from the other who is still covering his stunt of a nose with it’s hands. All the while it continues to glare at Saaga, it’s upper lip rising into a  animalistic snarl.

The big orc crouches down and forces the northerner's wrists together despite her attempts of resisting. It is growling at her as well.

”No! Somebody help!” Saaga screams, desperate tears rising into her eyes as the thing’s terrible breath washes over her face. ”HELP!”

She has just enough time to see the bigger orc raise it’s fist and swing it down. It connects with the woman’s cheekbone with the force of a hammer.

_Just as I got the last punch healed. Great. Just great._


	14. Kuebiko part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, this chapter contains some violence so be aware! The setting for the rating is Mature for a reason! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and leave a comment.

When Fíli sees Kíli’s face, paled to white as a faded tomb stone, he immediately knows that something has gone horribly wrong.

He wades through the shallow waters, securing his brother’s barrel in place. Kíli has a knuckle-whitening grip on the wood and he is leaning his forehead on top of his hands. The dwarf’s dark brown hair is all over the place, messy strands pointing in all compass directions. Fíli sets his hand on the other’s back, eyes searching his little brother’s body for wounds.

”Kíli, what’s wrong? Did the turbulence make you sick? Just yesterday you were telling me how your stomach is made of iron, so don’t tell me this little thing is going to make you throw up.”

Kíli is breathing heavily through his nose, not responding to Fíli’s teasing. It only makes the golden haired dwarf even more worried. Kíli _always_ responds to him.

”Kíli? Brother?”

With a deep breath Kíli finally raises his face. The scratches on his skin burn bright red against white.

”I couldn’t do anything Fíli. I couldn’t do _anything_.”

Fíli’s eyebrows furrow and he rubs the other’s back gently. Kíli’s fingers, curled tightly around the barrel’s rim tremble.

”What? What are you talking about?”

”It happened too fast and the current took us away and the orcs-! The orcs…”

Kíli swallows and his eyes snap shut, face pained as if he is remembering something particularly nasty.

”Kíli, you’re acting real strange. Did something happen?”

”Where is Saaga?” Bilbo suddenly asks, turning around and searching for his partner in crime. The hobbit’s gaze travels over every company member. ”Where is lady Saaga?” He asks again, this time with a more raised voice.

Kíli still has his eyes shut, his forehead lowering to lean on his knuckles with a thump. Fíli looks towards everyone else, searching for the only female member.

His gaze fixes on Nori, who is sitting on a rock near the shore, staring at the water with unseeing eyes. The thief has leaned his temple on his hand which slowly travels into his hair and grips there. The dwarf looks absolutely defeated, shoulders slumped and head hanging. He isn’t crying but he looks miserable enough. Ori is on his knees before him, repeatedly asking the same question Fíli had just asked from his little brother. Dori is looking over his siblings with a dark look. Bofur and Bifur are acting the same as always, chatting animately with each other while peeling the remains of wood - which once had been a barrel - off Bombur. Glóin and Óin are leaning their foreheads together. Fíli wants to write it off as being happy about being alive but their expressions stop him on his tracks. They both look like they have lost a war, or something along those lines.

”Where is the woman?” Thorin repeats Bilbo’s question.

Silence follows.

”Where is the lass? I want to congratulate her on her first orc-kill!” Bofur shouts with enthusiasm, wringing water out of his hat. He stomps towards the rest of them, a huge smile on his face. ”You should have seen it! I wouldn’t believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes but, no. No! The lass is a perfect example of-… Where is that brilliant female?”

The dwarves and Bilbo all stare at each other, standing in a wide circle. Nori still has his back turned towards the rest of them. 

Finally Óin says with a quiet voice, "The lass… she didn’t make it. Saw it myself. Happened with a flash. The orc it-…” The old dwarf seems unable to finish the sentence, just waving his finger towards his neck.

”Oh, no…” Bofur says just as quietly, realization dawning on his face. The miner sits down heavily, blinking his eyes. ”No…”

”Nothing we could do,” Nori adds, still continuing to look over the river. Ori has a tight grip on his older brother’s knee, staring up at him in disbelief. The scribe’s face is quickly turning ghost white.

”She went down fighting,” Kíli declares with a look of anger and sorrow. It makes Thorin’s chest squeeze painfully for he had never intended this quest to bring such an expression on his sister’s sons faces. Fíli looks frozen - staring down at his brother - standing in the gently flowing river motionless as if he had been turned into stone.

It must be because of the shock. The young prince had seemed to have grown to be good friends with the northerner.

Suddenly Kíli is scrambling out of his wooden prison and limping towards Thorin with a furious, determined look on his face.

”Let’s go back!” He roars, grief twisting his face into something horrible. ”Let us go back and kill them! Kill them all!” The young dwarf prince is scrambling to him, almost tripping over rocks because of his limp. ”We cannot allow that filth to walk while Saaga lies dead on the riverside. Let’s go kill them!”

”Calm yourself, Kíli,” Thorin growls at his nephew.

”No!” Kíli screams. ”No, let’s go kill them! I cannot forgive-! I cannot-!”

” _Kíli!_ ” Thorin roars which finally shuts the prince up. He stares at his uncle with feverish eyes, sweat forming on his forehead. The dwarf’s jaw ticks, trying to bite back the angry grief-filled words that threaten to tumble over his lips.

”The woman is dead,” Thorin announces with finality. ”There is nothing we can do for her. There will be a time to mourn her and remember her and a time for revenge. But that time is not now. Do you not remember why we are here?”

He looks over the miserable company. The king looks over their hunched postures and sad eyes, he looks over Ori who is trying to hide his tears into his sleeve, over Bofur who is holding his hat in his large hands in respect, and over shocked faces of Dwalin and Balin. Bilbo has gone white in the face as well, staring across the waters.

Yes, Thorin was surprisingly sad about Saaga's fate as well. In the end, he had found her presence to be entirely tolerable, her snorting laughter contagious and fierce attitude respectful. And she had defended them, fought with and for them, and she had been ready to see this quest through with them. Now that Thorin could respect.

Entirely tolerable, yes. And he would have allowed Saaga to tag along until the end. In fact, he had been seriously considering offering the woman a home in Erebor were they to succeed, possibly as a translator of sorts. There were always need for people with fluent Khuzdûl skills to translate their ancient scrolls that were written in a dialect long forgotten. It had been a far-fetched, fleeting thought, but it had existed.

Thorin would have allowed her to try that career, if she couldn’t have found her way home to north, that is.

”She would want us to see this quest through. And that we will. When this is all over we will honor her sacrifice. But we cannot turn back now. We are too close.”

With a sharp look he turns to face Kíli once more. The young dwarf looks devastated.

”Have your leg bound. There is still an orc pack on our tracks. The least we can do is not share her fate; lady Saaga wouldn’t stand for that. We leave in two minutes.”

Kíli takes heavy, defeated seat on the riverbed. With a grimace he lifts the fabric of his pants off his wound with a wet squelch. His teeth are still gritted together painfully hard.

”Fíli, you have any bandages?”

There is no answer so Kíli turns to look over his shoulder. The movement makes him flinch from the pain in his tight.

”Fíli?”

His brother is still standing in the middle of the river, staring down over the waters with the same look their mother had had on her face when she was told of their father’s death.

 

* * *

 

Saaga awakes in pain. Her cheekbone is throbbing from it, and her head was repeatedly banging against something. With a small groan she opened her eyes, slowly regaining consciousness.

The northerner was surrounded by running orcs, riding on one’s back. With a gasp she stays absolutely still, only the running of the orc making her body jostle with each movement. Saaga looks blearily at their surroundings. They are still moving down the river. Her hands are bound together in front of the orc’s neck, her legs circled over the creature’s waist and secured there by it’s powerful hands. The smell of the orc is disgusting - of sweat and dirt and something irony she doesn't wish to linger upon - and she can guess the thing has probably never taken a proper bath.

_Okay. Okay, don’t panic._

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Saaga breaths through her nose to calm down her racing heart. A survival guide for ”what to do when you find yourself kidnapped by orcs” would be _lovely_ right about now.

Well, first things first.

Saaga needs to figure out something that makes her valuable to the orcs and immediately if possible. Otherwise they will kill her when they realize that she is in fact,  awake. Even Saaga knows that much about these dark creatures. Next, she will have to come up with a plan for escaping. Even orcs cannot run forever, right? They need to stop at some point to rest, and with a good distraction she might be able to run away from them. Maybe. At least she has the advantage of being more rested. As a minus, she had a throbbing headache that was almost splitting her head in two and the soreness on her throat was something horrible.

” **Stop!** ” Came a clear command after few minutes. The orc carrying her is breathing heavily, it’s breath rattling.

” **Fucking finally** ,” Saaga can hear it mumble. Then she is roughly dropped on to the ground which makes her gasp and just sit there dazedly, looking up at the surprised orc. Then the thing starts snarling at her. ” **You were awake? Had I known I wouldn’t have had to fucking carry you, you wench.** ”

_Is it okay for me to start screaming hysterically now?_

Saaga doesn't answer the orc but instead just looks at it and sweats. Orcs were truly terrifying creatures with their mangled flesh and faces. They were perfect personifications of darkness. The one that had been carrying her was really eye-catching but not in a good way: it’s nose looked like it had been cut off, just sliced nostrils in its place. It looked like it suffered from some kind of a swelling as well which almost made it’s eyes hide behind thick, high cheeks and huge, swollen forehead.

” **Bolg!** ” Her ride yells with a rough voice. ” **The female is awake.** ”

Saaga was almost too scared to take a look as one massive orc approaches them with heavy steps. It’s armor rattles and clicks, and Saaga has to close her eyes for a second to calm down her imagination for making her think the orc’s steps were heavy to go through the ground.

When she finally raises her gaze to meet the face of the orc, Saaga almost faints right then and there.

_Had it run to a wall when it was little?_

Her mind kindly supplies the brunette with a snarky comment which she wisely does not voice out loud.

Bolg was probably the ugliest creature Saaga had ever seen. It’s skin was weirdly pale against the black armor. The plates of it have been actually thrust through the orc's flesh and stick out from between Bolg’s ribs. As if to make things worse, someone has slammed a strip of metal right across it’s face and to the corner of it’s left eye and down it’s cheek. Bolg’s left eye was milky white and probably blind, but it acted as a nice finishing touch for his terrifying appearance.

The other orcs surrounding Bolg’s massive figure looked like insects.

” **The whore of dwarves** ,” Bolg huffs and looks down at the trembling woman with an cold eye. ” **Tell me why I should not let my subordinates rip you apart.** ”

Saaga knew it was coming: the question of her value. She just had not expected it to be the first question she was asked.

_Better think fast._

Well first of all, Saaga had to stop looking like she was about to die from fear. No one had sympathy for cowards, least of all orcs. Secondly, Saaga had to convince Bolg she would be of use and for that, she needed to remain in one piece. So with that thought in her head, Saaga consciously decides to cease being so afraid for it does her no good. In fact, it would get her killed. The woman stands slowly, meeting Bolg’s gaze with such forced calmness it even manages to capture the thing’s attention. She does her best curtsey despite the awkwardness caused by her bound hands.

_Show only confidence, confidence, confidence…_

” **Pleasure to meet you,** ” Saaga says and ignores the full-body startles of the orcs. ” **I am Saaga, the translator, the language master.** ”

Speaking black speech feels repulsive, like she was gagging out poison. Ignoring the nausea, Saaga continues as Bolg doesn’t look the most patient of people. He didn't look like people, period.

” **I ask you to keep me alive for the sake of your victory. It might be most certain but I may be able to ease it along.** ”

Saaga would have described Bolg looking down it’s nose at her, if it had had a nose. Apparently orcs were not overly fond of noses because for most of them, they seemed to have been cut off.

” **Continue** ,” Bolg grunts. It’s simple reply causes a small river of sweat run down Saaga’s back.

” **I am of value to the dwarves. I am most certain they will be willing to exchange me for whatever it might be that you require. They are even willing to give up their lives for me.** ”

A _slight_ exaggeration but what else was she to do? Apparently the dwarves and Bilbo had not cared enough to bother checking if Saaga had _actually_ died. The realization stirs up her irritation and a bang of betrayal.

” **Thorin Oakenshield giving his life for that of a woman,** ” Bolg grunts and his grips tightens on the massive hammer it carries. ” **I find that hard to believe.** ”

Apparently Bolg was smarter than an average orc. So Saaga tells the truth. Good thing she was getting better at lying.

” **Thorin, no. But the others will. They are very fond of me. Thorin himself might not be willing to give his life for mine, but my presence will be enough to draw him out in the open.** ”

Bolg considers this for a while before grunting in acceptance. He swings his hammer down with a loud bang and Saaga cannot help it; she takes a hurried step backwards, her back hitting a growling orc. Hastily she stops, heart hammering just as loudly as Bolg’s hammer.

” **We stop here for the night! Make a fire! Nobody touches the wench. She’ll be of use to my father.** ”

The orc behind her - the big one that had punched Saaga earlier - leans over her shoulder, it’s nasty breath tickling her cheek. The woman’s nose twitches in repulsion.

” **Can we play with it?** ” It croons and strokes a hand down Saaga’s backbone. ” **Just a teensy-tiny bit.** ”

” **You are not worthy of me,** ” Saaga spits, pushing it away with an angry shoulder-movement. ” **Get your filthy hands off of me, orc.** ”

The orc with the circle piercings raises it’s fist to hit her again, but Bolg’s grunt stops it just in time. The pale orc strides to the pair and grips Saaga’s hair so painfully it raises tears into her eyes. A crackling laughter follows her stumbling steps as Bolg forces her along, ripping tufts of hair out. She is thrown on to the ground next to fire, her knees slamming on harsh rock. Saaga breaths slowly in an out, trying not to yell in pain. Frustrated tears continue to rise into her eyes but she sucks in her lower split-lip, and wills them to disappear.

” **Stay where you are, whore,** ” Bolg snarls, taking a seat on the next rock. Saaga does as she is told, drawing her knees close to her, looking over the orc-camp with dark fascination. Her hands are still bound before her, rough rope scratching against her skin. The ropes have drawn a little bit of blood out from all the movement during the day, staining it dirty red.

At least she hasn't been - _what was it?_ \- ah, yes. _”Ripped apart”._

Marvelous.

After watching the filthy creatures buzz and waddle around the fire, Saaga comes to a conclusion that orcs are more like animals than anything resembling human. They communicate trough grunts and snarls, with punches and kicks, and break out into fist-fights once in a while. After what feels like an hour - Saaga has no possibility to tell - the whole thing escalates when one of the smaller orcs has the nerve to try and take a piece of black bread before the big ones.

” **You stupid little piece of dwarf-dung!** ” One of the big orcs roars. ” **I’ve fucking had it with you, Tuggûg!** ”

Tuggûg screams as the big orc takes a hold of the back of his head and pushes it down with force. The little orc’s face connects with the larger one’s knee with a crack. Black blood squirts out of it’s nose, running down it’s face and coloring it’s teeth even darker while it squeals like a wounded pig.

Saaga’s breath stutters and she covers her open mouth with her hands, staring at the violent show with wide eyes.

” **Break his fingers off, Muluk!** ” Someone encourages.

” **Gauge it’s eyes out for even making eyes at our food!** ” Another one yells.

” **Let’s pull his teeth out! That’ll teach him a lesson.** ”

It pretty much goes on like this, others suggesting things to do with the little orc that get more vile by the second, as Muluk throws the screaming, whimpering thing around like a rag-doll. The show comes to an end when the big orc thrusts his dagger into Tuggûg’s chest and takes a hold of his jaw, starting to rip the head off the body while Tuggûg is still screaming.

Finally Saaga turns her watery eyes away, gagging and gasping, jamming her fingers so far in her ears they almost reach the eardrums, but even that does not drown out the sounds of a small orc’s body being literally ripped into pieces while the others cheer. Saaga crawls closer to the rocks she was leaning against, pushing her pounding forehead against it. Her eyes stay tightly shut, knees drawn close.

One thing was damn sure: whatever pity Saaga might have had for the orcs was gone. They might distantly resemble human in appearance but they were not the same as she. They did not have a piece of humanity left in them. Now that Saaga looks at them, she cannot see anything that would connect her to these awful creatures. Not a damn thing.

After a while the orcs' cheering quiets down and Saaga stops humming under her breath. The brunette raises her head and meets the face of grinning Bolg. He is still sitting on the rock next to hers, back arrow straight and bulging hands crossed over it’s muscular chest. It seems that Saaga’s actions have amused him, going by the smirk it wears.

” **You’re safe for now, little wench. Nobody touches what is mine.** ”

Her mouth forms a firm, unamused line under her nose. Saaga refrains from answering Bolg with a harsh comment about not belonging to anyone.

” **Sleep. We have a long run ahead tomorrow.** ”

 _And how am I supposed to sleep after that?_ Saaga thinks angrily, glaring at the pale orc from under her thick eyebrows. Curling protectively in on herself, Saaga tries to sidetrack her thoughts towards something else. It wasn't entirely too difficult as her whole body is bruised and sore, her left cheekbone worst of all. It was throbbing with pain as did her entire head, and no doubt colored nicely black and blue. Her neck must be looking even worse and the northerner had a ghost-feeling of fingers still curling around her throat. Then there was of course her bruised knees, elbows, sides and hands.

At least she was the only one who got captured in that mess of an escape. If Saaga was going to die, she was glad no one else was forced to go down with her. And her own family was safe in another reality, her mother and father…

_Mom... Dad..._

With a gasp Saaga opens her eyes to stare into the bright flames. God, how she misses them. And how she now missed her boring life without murderous orcs and wargs, and bloody thick-headed dwarves who had not been blessed with any sense of self-preservation. But they have grown to be her lovely, stupidly courageous friends, and Saaga was fond of every single one of them.

Thorin and his majestic gloomy character; brave Kíli and his beautiful, world lightening smile; Fíli and his lovely cocky smirk, who kissed like he fought: with every ounce of his power. Bofur and his stupid, stinking hat and dimpled grin, and Ori’s focused face when he sketches into that tattered notebook of his. Bilbo, shuffling on his feet and offering her his last apple. Then there was over-protective Dwalin, who is all warm and fluffy inside despite his fierce appearance. Balin, radiating calmness and inner strength, that was respected by all. Nori and Dori squabbling over whether Ori should wear more layers or not because the nights were getting chilly. Óin scrubbing Saaga’s wounded knuckles, and Glóin grumbling about her smoking. Bifur’s huge, crooked smile when Saaga talks to him in a language he can actually answer, and Bombur… Oh, Bombur. That huge, huggable teddybear with the most amazing skills of cooking the most delicious food basically out of thin air.

These scenes flash before Saaga’s eyes and suddenly she is forced to soak her warm tears into her tunic sleeve. This time she cannot help them. How on earth had it all escalated into this? In the beginning she had been angry at the dwarves of not treating her and Bilbo right, and slowly... ever so slowly she had gotten to know them on more personal level.

She had shared pitifully small meals with them and curled over from hunger time to time. She had licked at the edges of the waterskin for the last drops, dehydrated and exhausted. She had stumbled onwards with them despite the fact that in time they all had started to realize that they might not survive the journey and yet they still continued, teeth gritted in grim determination because there was nothing else to do, nothing else mattered but the idea that one day they would reach the mountain. And maybe it was because of the time spend with her companions but Saaga had eventually started to embrace the idea that one day, Thorin would be the King under the Mountain and the dwarves would have their home back. They would have  _a home:_ a luxury Saaga certainly didn't have anymore but the sheer sadness of it made her embrace the thought that the least she could do - as her own home was out of reach - was to help someone else claim back theirs.

Maybe her loyalty was a sad and twisted thing but it existed. It existed.

With a shuddering breath Saaga realizes that she would die for her friends and for their cause. But of course she would very much prefer not to, not in the hands of these orcs at least, if she could help it. 

And so, first of all, the northerner must look if there was anything useful she could do while in captivity.

Sniffling, the young woman trails her eyes over her captors and to her surroundings. There still remained well over twenty orcs, Bolg being the most fear inspiring of all of them. Right now, they were all munching pieces of black bread and the remains of Tuggûg. The sight made Saaga gag, a dry cough escaping, the contents of her stomach almost pushing out.

Apparently she was not worth giving food to, but honestly the brunette doesn't mind. She probably couldn't keep it down anyways.

Pushing her thumb into her mouth and gnawing at the nail, Saaga tries to come up with a plan. Maybe if she manages to weasel her way far enough from the orc-pack, she will be able to run away. Then there will be no need for fighting - Saaga isn’t very good at that - and she can escape into the darkness of Mirkwood.

How much courage does she have left? Does she dare to try and escape?

Saaga looks down at her tied hands.

If the Finn allows the situation to play out for too long, the orcs might get bored with her and just kill her. It will happen eventually. It might takes weeks, maybe just days, but it will certainly happen. Or something worse: they might force her to stay alive. Saaga shudders, thinking of the possibilities of her future if she were to remain in captivity.

As the northern woman watches one of the dark creatures playing with what looked like the intestines of it’s late companion, Saaga makes her decision. She was a northerner and she could be brave. She had to be. For better or for worse, Saaga had to act soon. Her decision made, the woman curls on the harsh ground, her white teeth gritted together in fierce determination.

Tomorrow she was going to try escaping or die trying.


	15. Schadenfreude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still feel like I need to remind you guys, the rating is MATURE FOR A REASON.

**Schadenfreude:** _The pleasure derived from someone else's pain._

 

Quite frankly the following night is the worst ever. Saaga jolts awake every once in a while, dragged into consciousness by the sound of Bolg growling and frantic sound of footsteps scuttling off. Saaga doesn't turn to look behind her, but curls closer to the cold rock and tries to lift her shoulder high enough to hide her expression. She was bloody terrified of falling asleep and one of the orcs managing to drag her off from the sight of others and doing god knows what to her. Basically her hours awake have been turned into a nightmare.

Not that Saaga’s dreams are any better when she actually manages to fall asleep. She sees feverish hallucinations of Kíli falling into the darkness, his face turning deadly white and cheeks hollowing out when life floods out of him, and right through Saaga's fingers when she tries to make it stop. Saaga dreams of Bifur, Bofur and Bombur: she watches them all die in turns and then others cry for their lost brother as Saaga weeps with them. She dreams of Thorin being ripped apart by Bolg the same way as Tuggûg had been, red blood squirting out of his jugular in a majestic arch - because who would be majestic even in death if not Thorin.

Every single time Saaga startles awake with a shaky breaths and wide eyes, cold shivers running down her small frame. Her shaky fingers run over her pale face, searching to bring even small comfort. The long scratch from orc’s claw stings on her right cheek just as badly as her split lower lip. The skin on her throat is sore and bruised and Saaga’s left cheek is painfully swollen. Just to be clear, that's just her head.

_I have become a punching bag for the devil._

When the first tendrils of morning light shine above the canopy of Mirkwood, Saaga raises to sit upright with a smooth movement, staring ahead with eyes that have sunken deep into her skull. Black circles run around her eyes and bruises have taken a sickly green and blueish tint in coloration. Dazedly she stares forward, feeling dizzy and wondering if she was truly awake or not, or if this was just another bad dream.

Bolg is awake as well. He stares at human female who is now sitting calmly and staring into nothingness with what seem to be dead eyes. But Bolg knows that look, he is familiar with it by having seen it many times before. It is the one the specimens of the race of Men give when they have realized there is no hope. All that is good is gone and still, _still_  they need to have their last hurrah, the last attempt of settling their place in the world, the final act of despair. It is always hilarious to look at and Bolg cannot wait to see what the female is planning.

The orcs are surprisingly efficient in the morning - most likely their speedy actions prompted by the menacing presence of Bolg - and soon they seem to be ready to leave. Slowly Saaga raises to her feet as well, legs creaking and spine popping. Her hair is in disarray and she was pretty sure she stunk worse than last week's garbage bag.

 **”See that the wench does not escape,” ** Bolg roars and without any warm-up whatsoever, starts running down the riverside.

Afraid of straying too far from him, Saaga sprints after him when she realizes there is no way to escape while she was surrounded so closely by a group of these dark creatures.

But Saaga could be patient. She could wait.

 

* * *

 

 

It felt like the day was endless. The river just went on and on, and the lake in the distance didn't seem to come any closer no matter how fast or far they ran. Saaga is already out of breath by what seems to be around mid-day, and the brunette is acutely aware she hasn’t eaten anything since she was held captive in the Woodland Realm. Now Saaga actually missed the wretched place.

The small woman starts stumbling over her steps not long after that, white noise ringing in her ears. Saaga cannot even spare a thought for escape plans as she is too busy simply trying not to fall over from exhaustion. Finally the Finn gets the tunnel-vision she has been dreading and waiting for. Saaga falters, her bound hands not letting her grab onto anything which that means she falls right on her face. Unceremoniously she is lifted back upright by her hair and shoulders and forced forward. Saaga manages barely few hundred meters more before she trips over her own feet again.

 **”Muluk!”** One of them calls the violent orc to come back and Saaga has to guess Muluk is next in line of command after Bolg. **”The whore cannot keep up. Shall we finish her off?”**

Saaga pants with her cheek against the ground and watches sand flutter from her breath. She is so dehydrated her eyelids seem glued to her eyeballs. The northerner feels the ground shake as Muluk strides to stand next to her. Saaga looks at his black, muddy boots with unfocused eyes and manages to swallow.

 **”Wench,”** Saaga hears Muluk grunt. Then the orc raises his right boot and lowers it right on the side of Saaga’s face which makes her freeze like a rabbit caught in a trap. **”Get up and run or I will smash your face in.”**

Saaga squeezes her eyes shut as the weight on the side of her face increases, pushing sand and filth from the ground into the open wound on her cheek. As the pain only continues to increase with no regards for stopping, Saaga starts screaming and wriggling vigorously as Muluk jams his foot down on her, his feet cruelly pushing her damaged cheekbone against the ground. The earth underneath the corner of Saaga's eye turns damp and clings on her skin, tear-tracks running over her nose.

Suddenly there is a loud smack and Muluk goes flying off. Saaga can't actually see it but at least now the pressure was gone. Muluk scrambles on to his feet a bit further away, and Saaga - her head spinning from the pain and terror - rolls on her back in order to look upwards and blinks in blinding sunlight. Bolg is snarling over her body to his subordinates, his teeth bared and an axe in hand. Saaga feel a little bit of puke rise up her throat.

** ”I said _no one_ touches the wench. Do not think yourself above those orders, Muluk.” **

The axe is placed securely on Bolg’s waist when his words prompt a series of agreeing grunts. The son of Azog looks down at terrified Saaga, and lifts the barely conscious woman on his back as if she weighted less than a schoolbag. Relieved, Saaga’s eyes rolls around in her skull and she smacks her dry mouth. The woman is still not offered any water or food but at least she didn't have to run anymore. Blissfully Saaga tries to fall asleep after they start moving again but even that is more like losing consciousness than actually sleeping. She is forced awake every time she lowers her chin and it smacks painfully against Bolg’s armor plates.

The pale orc that carries the small woman squeezes her tights thoughtfully. They are deliciously plump from muscle while the rest of the woman was mostly skin and bones. While he runs Bolg’s large hands heave the woman higher once in a while, groping her tights and behind with a rueful grin on his face. He likes these fierce ones the best. They scream the loudest and make the most amazing sounds when he tears through them. Just thinking about the possibilities makes his mouth water.

He has to distract himself from those thoughts when they came to a riverside where remains of barrels are scattered across the rocks. Bolg eyes the shore for a minute in silence before he feels the woman move on his back. Curiously Bolg turns his face to look down at her and for a second he could have sworn seeing such a cutting glint in the woman’s eyes that it almost, _almost_ startled him. When Bolg blinks it is gone, the small female’s eyes watching dully over the remains of the barrels by which she had arrived into their hands.

Bolg must have imagined it.

With a roar that gets his blood moving and hunting-instincts up their group continues to run towards a human village called Laketown.

* * *

 

The sun was already setting when they reached the shore of the lake. His nostrils flared, Bolg can still capture the faint stench of the dwarves in the wind. They must have found a way across the waters. Muluk comes to stand next to him, the big orc’s wide chest heaving with slowing breaths.

** ”What now?” **

**”We find a way around it,”** Bolg orders.  **”We will hunt the dwarfish filth down as ordered. Or do you want to face Azog and tell him about your failure?”**

Muluk snarls and spits on the ground. It clear enough agreement.

** ”We should run as long as we have the light. We’ll attack the city tomorrow. The rock-fuckers won’t even know what hit them.” **

Bolg grunts at his second in command and sets a fast pace for the last remaining hours. When it seems he has whipped those miserable worms that he has been given as subordinates enough, Bolg finally raises his fist as a sign of stopping. Nobody has grumbled about the pace and nobody announces their happiness of stopping too loudly. Bolg hadn’t really expected them to. Nobody complains in his presence as he has in past made examples of those who had dared.

Bolg drops the small woman he has been carrying around the whole day onto the ground and sits down. The girl looks dazedly around for a long while, clearly not managing to place herself. The human’s movements look pained when she finally seems to gather courage to approach Bolg. She crawls forward slowly, hands still firmly bound before her.

”Water,” the female rasps. Her lips are cracked and dirty, dried blood drying around her mouth and chin. ”Water, please, Bolg…”

When the orc’s name leaves the female’s lips, he turns his only working eye towards her. The woman’s face is quite nice on the Men’s scale, Bolg estimates as he looks over her round features and dark brown eyes. Her eyebrows seem to have been _shaped_ somehow as they look much more defined than what he was used to seeing on the females of race of Men. Her skin is silky smooth and pale and hands small and clean of any marks of hard work. There are merely scars that cannot be more than few months old. The woman must have belonged to a more wealthy family than her appearance gave away.

But she did look even nicer now, beaten and bruised, begging him for relief. Smirking, Bolg unties his water-skin from his waist and removes the cork. The pale orc then beacons the woman closer and raises his bottle far above her head. The female’s eyes are wide as she looks up at him from the ground, on her knees and hands hovering near him.

Bolg tips the water-skin.

Clear water rushes out in rivulets and immediately the female closes her eyes and dives under the spray. The brunette holds her eyes tightly shut but opens her mouth wide, swallowing as much as she can, sputtering and coughing once in a while. Small rivers run all over her dirty face, clearing it up, slithering down her purple throat and down underneath her green tunic that Bolg wishes to rip into shreds so he could watch.

When Bolg has had enough of that image, he laughs and kicks the woman away with a pained _oof!_ His comrades share his amusement with dark laughs, snickering, and a few lewd wolf-whistles. Bolg stares down at the woman who has sprawled all over the shore, wet hair sticking to her face and chest heaving with breaths. Eyeing her up with his only working eye, Bolg wonders what the girl is hiding under her shirt. Will she be perfectly round and soft, nipples hardened and angry red? Or will she be small-chested and almost male-like in her figure despite those round hips and delicious behind?

If she wasn’t so bloody valuable to his father Bolg would have had her a long time ago. He could have thrown her over one of those large rocks on their way and fucked her in half right after he had started carrying her. The way the female’s soft tights had opened up around him and jostled against him with every small movement had been pretty damn hard to ignore.

The lower-ranking orcs have managed to put a fire together from what they have found from the nearby forest. It was safe enough to build one as the lake would soon to be covered entirely by mist. Nobody will be able to see anything. While taking sips of water Bolg leans his elbows on his knees and looks into the campfire. Again, the small movement of the female soon draws his attention in. There is not much other entertainment going on than watching the girl bath in her own misery and despair.

The girl has curled in on herself once again, her back against yet another stone in similar way as last night. Her small mouth is barely a thin line under her button-nose and eyes so dark they look almost alight in campfire. Flames dance in her irises and colors strands of her hair bright red. It was still somewhat damp from the earlier treatment and yet, she still looked unbroken. She still had fire in her.

Bloody fuck, Bolg wants to mount her. Not just yet though. But soon. Very soon and preferably before his testicles turn blue.

Suddenly there is something touching his ankle and Bolg is drawn out of his musings. It is a very gentle and curious slide of soft fingers which was something so strange that it demanded his attention immediately. Bolg turns his head downwards to find the female rubbing his ankle with a barely-there smile on her face. She looks up to Bolg from under her eyebrows, now smiling so wickedly her lower lip splits open and stains it dark red. 

** ”You are the son of Azog the Defiler, am I right?” **

It takes Bolg a second to realize it is the human who has spoken. The black speech spills so naturally from her wounded lips it seems like she was born just for the sake of speaking it. Hearing that poisonous language roll off her tongue is exciting and exotic, and there is instant hardening to be felt in between his tights.

 **”Yes,”** he grunts, looking warningly down at the woman. She is not even flinching away: she does actually the opposite, her delicate hands coming to rub against his calves. The female inches closer, her wet, red lips now hovering over his knee.

** ”I’d like you to fuck me.” **

If Bolg was anyone else he would have asked her to repeat that because there was no way he could have heard that correctly. Never has he heard anyone beg to be fucked by him, he has just taken whatever he wanted, whether they liked it or not. Mostly the latter. But the notion of the possibility of a willing participant is absolutely delicious.

** ”You’ll get your chance when Azog is done with you.” **

**”Azog,”** the fierce female snarls and flutters her dark eyelashes at him, **”does not interest me. You do. And I know I am alluring,”** she whispers, rubbing her cheek against the rough skin of his knee. **”He might not want to share once he gets his hands on me.”**

That might be true. Azog did not share his most valuable bitches which this female would no doubt become with her mysterious language skills. He might even fill her belly with a spawn and make her give birth to Bolg’s competition.

 ** ”Now, if I can tempt you with the idea…”  **The brunette raises to her damaged knees with a grimace that disappears from her features just as fast as it appeared. Her warm, moist breath flutters against Bolg's arm.  **”Take me over that hill and fuck me until I forget where I am. If you do… I promise to play along.”** She smirks smugly against the skin of his arm, dark eyes heated and flames dancing in them.  **”How long has it been since you’ve had a woman who is truly dedicated to… pleasing you?”**  Her cracked lips pucker and leave bright red marks on his white skin. She is staining him with her blood and the action pretty much alights Bolg’s loins on fire.  **”How long has it been? Months? Years? Maybe you have never….”**

Before she can finish that sentence, Bolg grasps her small face into his harsh grip. He has his fingers spread over her jaw, holding her firmly in place. The female’s breath stutters.

** ”And why wouldn’t I just have you here in front of everyone else? I could fuck you open right here, right now.” **

There is fear in the girl’s eyes but Bolg can respect her ability to cage it in. She is trembling but her eyes never stray from his face. And he knows exactly what he looks like, so it was quite an accomplishment.

** ”Then I will kick and scream and claw, and you have already had women like that, haven’t you, Bolg? But what about one that wants to please you? Have you had that?” **

She is licking her lips, spreading the red mess around and staring him up from under her eyelashes. Such a sultry look for a girl of her age. It leaves an impression that she would know exactly what she was doing. The young woman was no virgin and lust curled tightly in Bolg’s stomach at the realization. He has never really cared for virgins, those females had no fucking clue as to how to fuck properly.

 **”And give you a chance to escape?”** Bolg has to grumble at her suspiciously nonetheless. This whole things reeks bad. The female laughs, her bubbling giggles tumbling down her lips and shoulders gently shaking with its force. Her smile uncovers a row of stunningly white teeth by which Bolg is momentarily distracted. He could plug them off and make them into a necklace.

** ”And how would I manage that? I am unarmed and small in figure. What chance do I have at escaping? I’d be even willing to bet the hardest place for me to try and escape is from your side.” **

Right. Fuck waiting. He is having the female right now.

Bolg raises with such a swift movement in knocks the girl from her knees and on her butt. Before she can do more than squeak, the woman is hoisted on his shoulder, far above the ground. Her bum rubs against the side of his head as Bolg turns to address the others.

** ”I’m going to teach this bitch a lesson in how to talk to her better ones. Anyone who follows will have their dick cut off. I’ll make you fucking swallow it and choke on it, you hear me.” **

Bolg snarls this to anyone on hearing-distance and smaller creatures of darkness quickly scramble out of his way. Muluk and few of the bigger ones cackle after the pair and make rude gestures. It makes the small woman lower her gaze to the ground, face burning with humiliation.

It takes few minutes of walking to get over the hill. The only light available is the light of the moon, illuminating their pale skins with a grey and blue tint. The air is misty enough to drown out any sounds expect for Bolg’s heavy breaths, grunts and his powerful strides. The pale orc stops on the shore of a small pond, looking around with flared nostrils. There is no one in sight but he can smell and hear few small animals quickly sneaking as far away from them as possible. Without a care he drops the female on the ground. She scrambles on her knees first, not voicing her irritation about being thrown around, and instead smiling up at the orc-leader. She offers her hands to Bolg.

**”Untie me?”**

**”Why?”**

She cocks her head, brown hair sliding over her shoulder smoothly. Bolg decides he is going to pull it _hard_ when he fucks her.

 **”Well, I’d like to use my hands as well when I’m pleasuring someone. Magic touch,”** the woman smirks, demandingly offering her bound arms. Her fingers wiggle suggestively.

With approving grunt Bolg snatches a long knife with a ragged edge from his side and proceeds to free the girl from her bonds. Afterwards the woman smiles, trailing her fingers over the red marks on her wrist thoughtfully. Bolg is quite surprised she doesn't whine or demand being treated better in the future. The big orc is about to take a step forward and grab a hold of this little minx when she raises her right hand. Her palm comes to rest on Bolg’s abdomen, stopping him on his tracks. Her thin fingers spread, sliding over the jumping muscles.

 **”Don’t be so hasty,”** she croons and flutters her eyelashes, **”we have the whole night to ourselves.”**

Before Bolg can disagree and say that if he is not allowed to mount her _right now_ his poor bollocks are going to explode, the woman has taken a step backwards, wading into the pond. The water is barely ankle-deep at where she stands so Bolg allows it, his pupil dilating in excitement as the woman unbuckles her belt and lets it drop into the water with a splash. Next thing to come off frustratingly slowly is her filthy, green tunic that she pulls over her head and throws on the dry land.

She is small. Her upper body is quite wiry, covered in shallow scrapes and deep purple bruises. With every breath Bolg can see her ribs painting their lines on her creamy skin, a shadow appearing in her navel and into the dips of her collarbones. Her hair is a proper bird's nest and eyes gleam with challenge.

And Bolg really fucking loves challenges.

He takes few hurried steps towards her, right up to the water-line, before he is stopped again by her raised palm and smirking. The brunette smiles at him, wading a bit deeper until that water runs up to her knees. She takes a hold of a small knot on the white linen that runs over her chest.

Bolg grumbles, pushing a hand against his hardening dick that make his loin-clothes feel entirely unnecessary.

The woman lets the knot untie itself and slowly - agonizingly slowly - she unrolls the thing from around her, exposing her treasures for Bolg to gaze upon. First he can see the cleavage, a nicely formed dip between her breasts the firm linen has created. As it falls off layer after layer, her pink nipples are exposed to the cool night air, breasts fully coming in sight. They are quite small but just as he had fantasized, perfectly round and standing firm in attention. Nothing like those saggy breasts Bolg has sometimes seen on the women from human villages they have pillaged. The pale orc can hardly contain his desire to squeeze them hard enough to leave finger-marks. Or any mark. He really wants to mark this female as his property.

The female walks backwards still in the deepening water, staring at Bolg with that suggestive look in her dark eyes. Her fingers delicately wade trough the water-surface that now reaches her plump tights. Heartbeat drums rhythmically in the veins on her neck.

Bolg snarls, drool dripping down his chin and takes a step into the water.

_Thunck._

Saaga watches an arrow go through Bolg’s head from the side of his blind eye. It stays there, sticking out from the other end like one of those crappy halloween decorations. With a voice that sounds like a dying cow Bolg falls down, tipping forwards and falling face-first into the pond. The water sloshes from the impact of his huge body, soaking the female’s brown pants further.

Saaga stares down at Bolg, son of Azog, for a second before raising her eyes to meet the newcomers. Tauriel is running towards her, the elf’s beautiful knife drawn and ready to be wielded. Legolas follows closely behind her, an arrow ready on his bow, his sharp eyes sweeping the forest-line constantly.

Saaga on the other hand stands there almost nonchalantly, naked from the waist-up in that shallow pond. She raises a hand on her hip and in heat of the moment, shows the elves a smile that is all teeth.

”Thanks. That could have really ended ugly for me.”


	16. Backpfeifengesicht

  **Backpfeifengesicht** : _A face badly in need of a fist_

 

”Are you alright?” Tauriel asks when Saaga splashes out of the pond and around Bolg’s body with shaking legs. The small woman looks disheveled, her confident demeanor crackling and falling off piece by piece like flaked skin. To Tauriel Saaga looks fragile and entirely too exposed without her shirt and Saaga, she can see her large eyes filled with fear reflected from Tauriel’s green irises. The cool night chill causes her skin raise on goosebumps and nipples perk up. Shivering, she glues her arms to her sides and raises her shoulders upwards like one would against northern wind.

”Me? Yes, I’m fine. Just… fine.”

Saaga’s pants, boots and the furs circling them are soaked, her toes squelching together inside the tight space of her footwear. The woman’s hands shake when she picks her tunic from the ground and throws it on, smoothing the fabric down when done. Her split lip twinges when the corners of her lips turn downwards.

”We must move,” Tauriel says with urgency and is about to reach towards Saaga to rush her forward but thinks better of it. The Finn does not look like she wishes to be touched. Her arms are now defensively crossed over her chest and nails sink into the fabric of her shirt in order to diminish the trembling.

”Legolas, put another arrow into his head.”

Saaga does not raise her eyes from the ground when she voices her wish. She just whispers the words, the little moistness she has in her mouth making her lips stick together. Her eyes burn from the corners. It is like there are embers pressed to the sensitive skin of her eyelids.

”It's already dead.”

”Another one. Now.”

It is as clear of a command as Saaga is capable of giving.

_Thunck._

The northerner’s whole body startles at the sound. Small breaths escape her is gasps as she stares unseeingly at the ground, eyes frozen wide open and glittering from tears.

”Thank you,” she whispers shakily, not turning to look at the sight that she fears would become seared into her soul.

”We must move,” Tauriel says gently.

”Let’s go,” Legolas orders and swings the bow to his back. His piercingly blue eyes bear down at Saaga, calculating. Then the elf begins to run and Saaga follows him after a few hesitant steps, Tauriel right behind the Finn.

It is difficult to run when your lungs feel like they are having a seizure from shock. Saaga’s breathing comes out shallowly, and soon a thin layer of cold sweat coats her skin. Besides, running without the linen that has in the past kept her chest firmly in place is terribly uncomfortable. But Saaga pushes the discomfort out of her mind. She was free, no one could touch her anymore and that was all that mattered.

Her heart gives a terrified lurch every time she thinks of Bolg’s expression: twisted by dark hunger for her. Just one mistake, one tiny miscalculation and she would have been-…

Saaga snaps out of her scattered thoughts when Legolas comes to a halt. For how long they have been running, the northern woman does not know, but her legs burn from the exercise. A long way, then. Legolas looks around, his perfect sight penetrating each and every corner of the dark forest which is visible. He is not even out of breath, Saaga notices with misery, and still looks stunningly perfect.

”You can rest here tonight,” he announces. ”The orcs will move towards Laketown tomorrow. We can follow them to the town and take them out one by one.”

His eyes turn towards the human girl, who is looking back with unreadable expression.

”If you want to follow them, that is.”

Saaga merely nods because she fears that if she opens her mouth she will blurt out something along the lines of _No! Take me back to your nice prison! Or better yet, get me back home! Please, please, help me get back home._

”I will cover our tracks,” Tauriel says softly and looks down at Saaga, eyes filled with compassion. ”You’re safe here. I will make sure of it.”

Tauriel does not ask the other female to trust her and for that Saaga is grateful. The human nods again, taking a seat between huge rocks that block her out of the sight of anyone in the forest.

” _Look after her_ ,” Tauriel whispers to Legolas pleadingly before vanishing in to the darkness. There is no sound as she goes, barely a soft sifting of grass. Legolas looks after her, most likely until she disappears from his eyesight, and then takes a seat few meters away from the human. Saaga eyes his rigid back quietly, feeling tiredness creep over her.

Well, this was awkward.

Last time they spoke Legolas had called her ugly and imprisoned her, called her friends goblin mutants and separated her from them, and to put it simplistically, made her scared. Saaga was willing to forgive that now though, as he had released her from the orcs.

From one captivity to other. The woman could sense a pattern forming here and she was not happy with it.

Feeling a shudder run down her spine, Saaga lays down on the ground, back once more against the hard surface of a stable rock. It made her feel more secure as this position left her capable of defending herself if needed. Saaga continues to stare ahead with blank eyes, thinking over her situation. This is how things have turned out. _This_  is what this world has taught her. You worry about the piling laundry? Not in Middle-earth but how about getting raped by an orc? Occupational hazard of a dimension traveller, she was sure.

But surely Saaga was safe now. Legolas would watch over her. While he might have acted like a immature teenager when they had met - a basic act of male-dominance combined with the hate of dwarves - he was not a bad guy. Saaga knew better, a lot better, and that was the only thing that had allowed her to stay calm when Tauriel had disappeared.

”Here, have some. You must be hungry,” Legolas offers and when Saaga raises her head from the ground she sees him reaching towards her with something akin to bread in his extended palm.

”Thank you,” Saaga says, reaching for the bread with some difficulties due to her position and settles back on the ground. The Finn nibbles at the pastry curiously. It has no flavor whatsoever which she remarks with a mutter of: ”This could use some salt.”

Silence falls.

”You’ve been very brave,” Legolas states awkwardly when the said silence has stretched for long enough to become uncomfortable. It is plainly obvious that the two of them have nothing in common and nothing to talk about. When the elf’s quiet words pierce thought the night it makes Saaga startle from the suddenness. The woman turns her head to look at Legolas who is not facing her anymore. He seems to have forced his muscles into relaxation and Saaga wonders if it is in order to appear non-threatening.

”I almost weren’t,” she admits quietly, her voice croaking. Saaga turns her gaze away from her companion as well.

Must he really attempt small-talk at a moment like this?

”But in the end you did act. Isn’t that all that matters?”

Couldn’t the woman just receive a compliment when one was given?

”Is it?” She wonders quietly and snuggles against the ground that is hard and unforgiving against her temple. Saaga eyes the little stones and tufts of grass with fleeting fascination, a half-eaten bread forgotten in her hand. ”When people say one can die from fright they are not joking. I understand that now.” Saaga’s remaining attention is directed towards the throbbing on her damaged cheekbone that she graces gently with her fingertips. ”When I saw Tauriel by a glimpse, I knew… I knew you were there and yet I was so scared, I almost hoped I had just imagined it so I wouldn’t have to act. How pathetic is that?” She closes her eyes in shame after the admission.

”But you did act,” Legolas stresses, clearly trying to comfort her. On the other hand he looks entirely uncomfortable about being forced into this situation. They both must severely miss Tauriel right now.

”I didn’t do it because I was brave,” Saaga whispers, ”I acted because I was scared shitless. Does that make any sense?” She laughs quietly, her clean hand coming to cover her paling face. Her eyes are now scrunched shut, eyelids burning from unshed tears. ”I was ready to… basically sell my body for freedom. God, how messed up is that?”

”We wouldn’t have let it happen,” Legolas remarks.

”I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t know if we had ventured far enough for you to attack safely or if Bolg was distracted enough to give you a shot or if I was in your way. I couldn’t know. I thought-… I feared-… I have never actually spoken to anyone about this but… I am _not brave_. I am _definitely not_ a hero of any kind. I’m just a girl who desperately wants to get home,” Saaga says and cannot stop the flood of the words now that she has started. ”The dwarves don’t understand: they were made for this, they were made for this adventure that is _so_  important because it is about _home,_  and I understand, you have no idea how well I understand. But me? I am not capable of this. I am _so terrified_ , all the time, and this… this right now is me being so very scared and nobody even notices because they are so busy being unforgettable and amazing and brave and I cannot… _I can’t_ -”

Her sentence ends in a heartbreaking sob. It wrecks her entire frame and makes her nose run loose at the same time as tears trail uncontrollably down her dirt-stained face, washing bruises into sight. She muffles her cries into her palm and just lays there, unable to do anything but repeat the events of the evening in her head, like a broken record going over and over and over again.

Legolas must hate her for putting him into awkward situation like this.

And so, Saaga cries herself into exhausted sleep while Legolas seems to want to look anywhere else than at her and, quite frankly, to be anyone else, anywhere else, rather than himself right now, right here.

Well, it was an evening of new emotions for everyone, was it not?

 

* * *

 

”Stop fidgeting,” Tauriel scolds Saaga when she flinches away from her healing hands the next day. The elf has something like cream at the tips of her slender fingers and she was in the middle of spreading it on Saaga’s face as her throat was already covered in it.

”It hurts!” The Finn whines. Her face is pretty swollen from the punches she has been forced to endure and the woman’s eyes are puffy and red rimmed from her nightly weeping. Tauriel doesn’t mention them but eyes the smaller woman worriedly. Her green eyes never stop scanning over the black and purple bruises. Saaga’s skin tickles under her gaze but on the other hand, the cream might be to blame for that.

”Seriously, Tauriel. I’m fine.”

”You don’t look fine. In fact, you look everything else but fine,” the elf shoots back.

It was probably way past midday. The sun was shining high above the tree line, warming the rocks they have taken a seat on. There had been no sign of the orcs, so the trio had come to a conclusion that they were waiting for a nightfall before their attack.

”And I don’t really feel like it either but I’m trying really hard to pretend.”

”Well stop it. What is it with you mortals? Do lies fall as easily from the lips of all the members of your race as they fall from yours?”

Saaga stiffens under the elf’s judgmental look and decides not to back off when Tauriel’s fingers probe the thin scar on her cheek. ”And did you know you are really much more approachable than most elves I’ve seen? You’re almost human.”

The complete lack of reaction from Tauriel tells Saaga she has hit a sore spot. Just as she intended. It was a petty jab, but she was hurt and tired and thoroughly poked upon. Revenge was sweet.

”I am a Silvan Wood-elf,” Tauriel admits readily. As if that explains it all.

”Does that mean you’re more down to earth?”

”I don’t understand.”

”You’re different from Legolas then?” Saaga tries a different approach, sneaking a look towards the elven prince from the corner of her eye. She was pretty certain the man was actually listening in on them.

”Yes,” Tauriel says, her lips a thin line. ”Yes, I am.”

”Well, good. I like it,” Saaga says and nods. ”And I mean it this time. Honestly.”

”I don’t believe you,” Tauriel mutters while looking the other straight into her brown eyes. Saaga swallows and averts her gaze, biting down on her lip. The words she had spoken at the elven castle come back in a rush as they are now repeated straight to her face. Revenge was sweet, indeed.

”I… Look, I’m sorry. I don’t like lying. It was a tight spot and I had to do _something_. I had no choice.”

”Good,” Tauriel says, still crouched in front of the human even though she was now ready with the treatment. ”I am not fond of liars.”

Saaga huffs in irritation and crosses her arms, almost immediately uncrossing them because her wrists still burn from the rope-marks. 

Tauriel clearly was not going to cut her any slack on this. It was fair, as Saaga had proven to be unreliable, but it was annoying all the same. Apparently she would have to earn the elf’s trust back.

”What are you even doing here? I never did ask, did I? Last time I saw you guys was at the cellars of Thranduil’s castle.”

”I followed Tauriel here,” Legolas suddenly joins the conversation, coming closer to the women. ”I could not let her go on her own.”

Saaga hums at that, ”A knight in a shining armor, you are. How very fitting for a prince.”

”It has nothing to do with my title.”

”Oh?” Saaga raises an eyebrow. ”What was it about then?”

Legolas turns his face away awkwardly and even Tauriel looks downwards. Saaga arches her eyebrows in confusion.

”This is our fight as much as it is yours,” the female elf explains to Saaga, her beautiful face turning serious. Apparently she was keen on not discussing the relationship status between her and Legolas. ”We cannot allow the evil to grow on these lands and take root. We must put an end to this. Before it is too late.”

”The evil? You mean the dragon?” Saaga wonders unsurely, eyeing Tauriel up and down. Suddenly she understands and inhales slowly. Right, Tauriel must mean the Ring. And it’s master. They must have felt it’s presence in the castle at least fleetingly, and they probably also mean the orcs and spiders crawling all over their lands.

”Alright, I get it.”

Tauriel stays where she is, kneeling before Saaga, her green eyes still mapping the Finn’s facial features. The captain of the guard looks worried and curious at the same time, like she cannot quite figure the other out. Her autumn colored hair sways gently in the wind while Saaga’s own gets thrown all over hers and she is forced to brush it off.

”You’re such a peculiar creature,” Tauriel wonders. ”I don’t think I ever asked you where you are from.”

”I’m from the north.”

”And where from there? Where is this place where they grow young women to be as brave as you? Where is this place where there is next to none physical work to be done? Where do they raise women to go on a quest to reclaim a mountain from a Great Serpent? Where is this north you speak of?”

Her demanding inquires make Saaga nervous. It had started as a compliment and then turned into real curiosity. The woman suddenly felt an urge to bounce her leg up and down, and just barely manages to resist. The dwarves had always settled for her usual phrase of ”I’m from the north” and left it at that. Apparently it wasn’t as rude in the elven culture to grill people about their origins.

”From pretty far up north, you wouldn’t know it,” Saaga answers vaguely. Now even Legolas is stepping closer, his blue is fixed on the small woman sitting on the rock. The sympathies Saaga had managed to score from him last night seemed to have disappeared, or at least conveniently forgotten.

”Why won’t you tell us who you are? Speak!”

Suddenly there is a cutting edge is Legolas’ voice and his long knife is drawn quicker than Saaga is able of drawing a breath. When the edge of the shining blade approaches her with the death bringing capability of a lightning-strike, Saaga flings herself backwards off the rock and on the ground, a hand raised in useless defense.

”Whoa! Jesus. Calm down, would you?”

”Who are you? What were you doing in my father’s kingdom? Have you not only deceived us but your traveling companions as well? Or are the dwarves in on this plot? I demand, speak who are you!” Legolas questions again even when Tauriel settles her palm on top of the blade and draws the other’s attention towards herself. She has risen to her feet in a swift movement very akin to that of a ballerina.

" _Calm down, my friend. Hasn't she gone through enough?_ "

”You do realize _I'm right here_  and perfectly capable of understanding you,” Saaga grumbles from the ground, glaring up at the etherial pair. They look stunning together, turning their heads towards her in synchronization. Da Vinci would probably give his life in exchange of a chance of painting those two.

Tauriel steps towards her and kneels again. Despite her calm appearance and a small smile, Saaga can read the anger behind her expression, made of confidence and a clear threat. Tauriel wasn't going to fall for her lies for a second time. This time around, Saaga would have to tell the truth or the elf would cut her tongue off.

”Please, Saaga,” Tauriel whispers and lays her hand on top of Saaga’s knee. ”Will you not enlighten us and help us wipe these suspicions into a mere memory? You must understand why we worry.”

Gaping like a fish on dry land, Saaga desperately stares at the female elf. She tries several times to force a lie out her mouth while Tauriel patiently awaits, Legolas standing threateningly right behind her. Saaga remembers her own reaction to the truth of her situation as clear as a day. There had been shock, disbelief and harsh denial, followed by incredulous acceptance because Saaga hadn’t had any other option than to believe what was happening around her. That, or to think she had slipped into insanity.

Saaga would have very much preferred for Gandalf be the one to break the news to the elves because, one, it was much more believable when a wizard voices such bizarre claims and because, two, Saaga did not feel like the right person to explain this. Things were just as incomprehensible to her as they were for anyone else. But as it was, it seemed she was not left with a choice.

”Gandalf told me not to speak of it,” Saaga manages finally, gasping for breath she had not realized she had held. It was like a lock has been opened and the shackles Saaga had not even felt before slid off from around her body. It was like she was finally able to breath. ”He told me not to reveal anything to anyone before we figured out what I was meant to do here.” Hell, this whole episode was a bloody brilliant mess. She had almost been killed, then raped and finally, she had been separated from the company. This meant she would probably miss the meeting with Gandalf as well. Everything was ruined. ”Gandalf can probably explain this better than I can, because I don’t know what’s going on. I honestly do not know. I don’t know what I’m doing here or what do the bloody _gods_  want me to accomplish.”

”The… gods?” Tauriel repeats unsurely.

”She is talking nonsense,” Legolas argues.

”I am not!” Saaga shouts desperately, scrambling from her butt to her knees, taking Tauriel’s hands between her own. She searches that stunned green gaze with her own eyes. ”Please, _please_ … Tauriel, you have to believe me. Gandalf can explain everything, I swear on my life. But he said… he said,” Saaga kneads desperately at the elf’s hands, trying to ground herself. ”He said something bad was going to happen. And I’ve seen it, it’s true. I’ve seen _the evil_ you spoke of.”

And then, like a snake striking on it’s opponent’s weak moment, the Ring paints itself across Saaga’s memory. The human remembers _the want_  and _the need_  to touch it, to take it and treasure it. Tauriel jerks backwards, her eyes so large they look like meadows at spring. In Saaga's memory, the Ring glitters and shines _so prettily_  and it whispers, speaks in that ancient tongue that is for once lost to her, but certainly paints a distinguished expression on her face. Something certainly comes across, because suddenly Tauriel in turn looks like she has been turned into a statue made of metal and stone. Only her eyes flicker from Saaga’s one eye to the other.

”It’s coming,” Saaga says, staring Tauriel dead in the eye. ”It’s coming.”

”Even if I believed you,” Tauriel breaths out much to the surprise of Legolas, ”that still doesn’t explain _you_.”

A short, hysterical laughter bursts out of Saaga. 

”Even Gandalf cannot explain me. Hell, _I_  can’t explain _me_. But I know things. I have kinda… a foresight on the events that are to follow. Gandalf said… he said I was brought here by the… the Valar? Does that mean anything to you?”

Finally Legolas lowers his sword with an expression of utter surprise. 

”Mithrandir confirmed this?”

”Yes,” Saaga stresses. ”He said they brought me here for a reason but we still haven’t figured out what it was. I’m not from this country. In fact, I’m not even from this world which means they went into a lot of trouble to get me here.”

”That’s impossible,” Tauriel comments faintly.

”And to me you are a fairytale, so let’s call it a tie, shall we? Miracles happen.” Saaga chuckles weakly, feeling like she has spilled her guts to the ground. ”You have no idea how good it felt to get that off my chest. You have no idea. Jeez, I’m so bad at keeping secrets,” she mutters, closes her eyes for a split second, and taps her hand over her heart for a good measure.

”For the Valar to get involved to this extent… Something must truly be happening,” Legolas says.

Saaga smiles inwardly.

_Oh boy, you have no idea._

But the elves did not need to know the full extend of this yet, as Gandalf had warned Saaga not to get too involved with the storyline. The original story - without her involvement - had been successful in the end after all. She must not change too much, not until they figure out what it was that the creators of this world wanted from her. And besides, it seemed that the creators had sent her in the wrong year. This was happening way before the events of the Lord of the Rings and frankly, Saaga had no idea what was going on. Maybe she was supposed to live here, in this time, and act as a genderbend Gandalf when it was time for Frodo to take up the stage. She would certainly look like one as time came to pass.

And even the creator of this world-part was strange. When Saaga thought about the ’creator’ of this world she thought of that black-and-white picture of Tolkien at the back of the book. Not some divine, incomprehensible being pulling the strings behind the scenes.

”What proof do you have of this?”

Saaga jolts out of her musings, staring at Legolas incredulously.

”You don’t believe me?”

”We need proof, lady Saaga. The graveness of your claim is not to be taken lightly,” the elven prince says. He finally sheaths his sword, eyes sweeping over Saaga’s frame. He does look dubious but at the same time interested. He was giving her a chance, Saaga realizes and furrows her eyebrows, wrecking her brain for a solution.

”Surely Gandalf could explain-..”

”Mithrandir is not here and we have no way to reach him,” Legolas argues firmly, his eyes hardening. Immediately Saaga is reminded of the unkind face of Thranduil whose eyes are the color of eternal ice that lays deep in the layers of earth. It scares Saaga and freezes the human where she is sitting.

Legolas is not yet the one she knows from the movies. As she has been repeatedly reminded of this in the past, this is the younger and more rougher version of Legolas. Certainly not what she had expected to meet. This is the prince of Mirkwood, still lacking the knowledge and wisdom one gains after leaving home. This was a person who has spend most of his life in the same forest, surrounded by the same elves day after day. People have grown up with doubtful morals in less extreme cases. This was an elf capable of cutting her in half with his shiny sword.

But still, under what excuse was she being interrogated? _What_  about her appearance  _exactly_  made her a suspect to be a spy for the friggin' dark side?

”You don’t believe me,” Saaga repeats incredulously, cocking her head and squinting her eyes in irritation. Here she was, baring her soul to these ignorant fools, and look where it got her. ”I can’t believe… you don’t believe me!”

”Saaga, you must understand why we cannot just… please, imagine yourself into our position,” Tauriel tries to reason. There is a soothing undertone in her voice.

”I don’t have time for this!” Saaga shrieks and scrambles on her feet. She is huffing heavily, eyes snapping back on forth between the elven pair. ”You think you’re getting screwed over in this story? Well, think again. I have been pulled out from my world - _from my home_  - from my _life,_  and just thrust upon this miserable place with nothing more than a ’good luck’. No, actually, come to think of it, I didn’t even get that. I have been forced to go through things you two have no clue about. I have seen things that are eternally _seared_  into my bloody retinas because of the horrors they’ve been. Do you think I _wanted_ any of this? I could be home, you know. That is where I want to be. I just want to go home and watch my tv-shows and eat my tacos. None of this, what has happened, has been as poetically wonderful as your story paints it out to be. I _hate_ it here! I don’t _want_ any part in it. But you know what? Time and time again I have found myself thinking: this isn't what I want, I screwed up, this isn’t fair. And guess what? Time and time again this world has given me another chance. And I’ll be damned if you don’t let me return the favor!”

Saaga is panting and her hands are clenched into tight fists on her sides. Tauriel and Legolas do look quite taken aback about her outburst but no more convinced than a minute ago. 

”Oh, for the love of-.." Saaga throws her hands in the air, suddenly hoping there was a table she could flip, just for dramatics. "Whatever. I give up. I'm so over this. Done. I'm so done. Listen, I personally don’t care if you believe me or not. You might think I’m crazy. And if you do, then by all means do continue to do so. But I am with Gandalf, and that should be enough to prove that I am not an evil person.” Saaga rubs the side of her nose. ”I guess what I’m trying to say… is that I want to help. Whatever happens… I want to help. I mean, I'm stuck here, so I might as well try, right?”

Tauriel’s lips stretch into a light smile and she lays her hand on Saaga’s shoulder. Like a companion would. Saaga immediately relaxes.

”And we shall be glad for it. However, it is useless to have this conversation without Mithrandir. Let us put this past us and return to it at a better time. We have more pressing matters to attend to. Now come, we have some orc to hunt!”

Finally, as they start moving towards lake shore to prepare for the night, Saaga can hear Legolas speak to Tauriel in low tone: ”Her words are half nonsense and half deranged. I don't trust her.”

Angrily Saaga strides forward but throws over her shoulder: "Ah yes, because I am truly a master spy. What a brilliant plan I had, almost getting  _raped_ by  _an orc."_

Legolas at least has the sense to look a little ashamed after that.

 

* * *

 

When the night falls Saaga has a feeling a misfortune is about to fall upon them all.

It might have had something to do with the gnawing sensation of fear and excitement twirling around in her belly. But Saaga could not help it, for they were hiding along the tree-line of a dark forest, waiting for the orcs to attack, so they could attack the orcs in return. Or Tauriel and Legolas would. Saaga would gladly stay on a safe distance and keep eyes open for the dwarves.

”Do not fall asleep, lady Saaga,” Legolas whispers. ”We must be ready to fight on a moment’s notice.”

”I can’t help it. It’s like four days past my bedtime.”

Then, unexpectedly, the earth booms.

It does not last for more than a second but it is certainly felt deep within one’s bones. The small stones on the road to Laketown jump from the ground. The birds fly off with a urgent flap of rustling feathers and Saaga’s heart skips a beat.

”What was that? An earthquake?” She asks with wide eyes, staring towards the barely flickering lights of Laketown. She certainly was not sleeping now, even the pain in her knees forgotten. Crouching in the bushes on a cold evening for too long was not good for anyone’s health.

”It came from the mountain,” Legolas says, eyes staring into the darkness. Quietly, Saaga wonders if he actually sees something or if he was just pretending for the sake of theatrics.

”We mustn’t assume the worst,” Tauriel whispers but her lips have been pursed into a thin, unamused line.

”They are on the move.” The words Legolas breaths out make the women grow silent. Saaga herself cannot see or hear anything out of order, but she trusts the elves to know better. Silently Legolas waves for them and moves out. It is like they have been transported into a military thriller, sliding from shadow to shadow, their eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Saaga tries her best to run as quietly as possible but of course she fails miserably. She feels like an elephant running along with a pair of deer. Every crick and crack under her boots makes the woman cringe and shrug apologetically to the elves.

Laketown smells distinctively of fish, and of fish in the various stages of rotting. There might be something else underneath it, some smells that reveal there were humans living in this weird, floating village, rather than mermen. Truth to be told, Saaga was glad she does not have to be exposed to the pure smell of a village that probably equates one in the 16th century Britain. According to her studies hygiene in those places was, to say the least, questionable.

Laketown was a dark, miserable place. The mist hangs heavy over the wooden houses and gathers moistness on Saaga’s upper lip. The three of them slip quietly in between the shacks, sneaking from corner to corner. There is no one in sight as apparently everyone has decided to lock themselves in for the night as if anticipating danger. Nervously Saaga twirls a long knife in her hand. She had received in from Legolas as Tauriel would certainly need her own while the prince could rely on his bow. Now, after her clutching on to it for hours, the handle was warm and sweaty in Saaga’s grip.

Suddenly Tauriel raises a hand and they come to a halt. Saaga raises her eyebrows at the other when she turns to look at the young woman.

”Stay here,” Tauriel mouths. Saaga purses her lips in annoyance but nods. She would only get in the way in a battle.

When the elven pair slips away, quiet as ghosts, Saaga feels suddenly very alone. She is standing on a dock that is build out of dark wood, a long knife in her hand, not really sure of what to do next. Should she hide? Sneak closer in case the elves needed her help? Sneak away completely to find her dwarves? Or just… wait here?

Licking her lips, Saaga glances around the place and lowers her knife. She even shrugs to herself in silence out of pure exasperation, and leans her hand on her hip. She had been expecting action, not standing in the middle of a floating village with nothing to do. How disappointing.

Sudden footsteps cut her thoughts off as Saaga twirls around on her heels, squinting her eyes in the low light of the moon and few lit lanterns, to see in between the houses. She does not care to be surprised by orcs.

A smallish figure rushes forward along the sides of the houses. He was clearly avoiding getting wet but in a hurry. It was otherwise too dark to see his clothes or face but Saaga could recognize the shape of that silly hat anywhere.

”Bofur!” Saaga squeaks in excitement, her voice coming out as barely a breath. Hands waving, balancing her as she jumps from dock to dock, she runs after her long lost friend.

She is in the middle of ducking out of the way of hanged clothes when a sudden snarling breaches the quiet night. The fierceness of it, the bloodlust, does not allow it to be mistaken for anything else than for the sound of an orc. An axe sinks into wooden dock as Bofur jumps out of its way with a startled shout. He is thrown on his back with a great crash and the dwarf desperately tries to scramble on his feet. The orc, on the other hand, tries to rip it’s weapon of the wood but it has been lodged too deep into it. It does not budge.

”Oh dear,” Saaga pants out and then she sheaths her knife with shaking hands. It would not do her much good when facing a long stemmed axe. Her eyes fix on a frying pan hanging from the hooks on a porch. "Oh yeah!"

The orc strides to poor Bofur who is on all fours on the ground, trying to scramble away. The monster with a twisted face takes a hold at the back of the miner’s jacket and lifts him in the air, throwing yelling man straight to a wall. With a shout that is more surprised than hurt Bofur lands on his back, and then from a tipping edge of the bench on to the ground, upside down.

Then the orc finally manages to rip it’s axe out of the dock. It growls and swings the thing behind it’s back, ready to deal the killing-blow.

 _I am officially out of my mind_ , Saaga has time to think before she acts.

First, she takes hold of the stem of the axe which is unusually long, tugging the thing out of the orc’s grip from behind. Saaga drops it in the ground in haste as the orc whines in confusion, fists clenching around empty air. It turns around.

”Hello, asshole,” Saaga snarls and smacks the frying-pan right in the middle of it’s ugly face. The blow might not have killed it, but Saaga expects the water to do its job as the orc drops dead into the lake. Her swing had been strong enough to knock it unconscious at least. Saaga’s chest heaves with breaths as she spares a second to watch the floating back of the orc but it does not move. The northerner brushes dark hair out of her face and huffs with satisfaction.

”Lass?”

Bofur’s voice makes the Finn turn her head towards her friend, expecting to get a matching dimpled-grin in return. Instead, Bofur looks like he has seen a ghost. Saaga falters under his expression of pure distraught.

”By Mahal. Have ya came to fetch me to the halls of our great ancestors, my lady? For it is my great regret to tell ya that I could not possibly leave yet.”

”What are you talking about?” Saaga remarks in confusion, her eyebrows furrowed. She throws the frying-pan in a stack of hays. This was not quite the reception she had been hoping for. Hugging and squeals of joy, yes. Not this. Bofur has removed the hat from his head in respect to the presence Saaga’s spirit. His fingers twist nervously around the lining.

”You’re dead, my lady. The others saw ya go down with their own eyes. And yet, here ya are as pale as the treasured marble with lines as blue as the sapphire-rivers on your face.”

”I had no idea you were a poet as well as a miner, my dear friend,” Saaga laughs quietly, finally catching on. It seemed that the dwarves were a quite superstitious lot. ”I am in good health. Or... pretty good at least. But I am most certainly not dead. As you could have confirmed before _abandoning_  me.”

She mutters the last part a little bitterly and crosses her arms. Bofur finally gets up to his feet but eyes never stray from Saaga’s face as if he was expecting her to just melt into the mist. His balance is a bit unsteady.

”Bofur, seriously,” Saaga says firmly. ”It’s me.”

”But how could this be? You died.”

”No,” Saaga says slowly, her mouth splitting into amused grin. ”I didn’t. Apparently you thought I did, but I didn’t.”

”Lass?” Bofur whispers. He sounds wounded, like breathing her nick-name physically hurts him. Saaga’s heart melts under his confused black gaze.

”It’s me.”

Finally Bofur rushes towards her and Saaga meets him halfway, throwing her arms around his broad shoulders. Bofur is safe and warm, smelling of pipe-weed, smoke, and sweaty clothes. Quickly the dwarf takes a step back but his hands linger on Saaga’s shoulders as he takes a good look at her face. The Finn points a large grin at him which makes her white teeth almost glow in the darkness.

”Dear lass! By Mahal, what has happened to ya face?”

”Generosity of the orcs,” Saaga mutters and turns her brown eyes elsewhere. Suddenly she feels embarrassed for her friends to see the bruises and marks of getting hit. Surely they will think her weak and incapable of protecting herself. Which she was, but she preferred not to linger on the issue.

”We should have gone after ya,” Bofur says sadly while shaking his head. He looks so sad it makes his braids droop.

”No, Bofur,” Saaga whispers back. ”You couldn’t have known. It's over now.”

”I’m afraid not, lass. Come, we must hurry back to the others. Kíli is not feeling very well, not at all, actually, and we must take this,” he gathers a small plant from the ground, ”to Óin. Arrow-wound on Kíli’s leg has gotten infected. Flaming red it was when I left.”

Nagging at the back of Saaga’s head there is the nightmare of Kíli, looking deathly pale as life slips out him. It makes the woman swallow as the image flashes before her eyes like a bad omen.

”In that case, we should probably run.”

And so they do, Bofur running and leading the way while Saaga trails after him, unsheathing the knife once more. However, it takes them a while to get to the high house which was sprouting proudly from amidst the smaller shacks. The pair can hear their destination before they actually see it. Shrieks of the orcs and sounds of weapons clashing together and humans’ screaming greets them from around the corner.

They jump up the stairs at least two at the time, and Bofur just barely manages to twist out of the way of an orc that is pushed trough the doorframe and then tipped over the rail. Together Saaga and Bofur share a tense look before sprinting inside. It was like apparating smack in the middle of a chaotic war-field.

There are children screaming for one: screaming and _throwing tableware_  at the orcs, god bless them. Tauriel and Legolas look like they are engaged into a deathly dance around the small room, their blades singing a sharp tune. They were hurricanes of flashing knives and quick death, sending blood and furniture flying.

”Get out of the way!” Saaga hears a familiar voice shout which draws her attention from the elves. Fíli, as unarmed as he was, was doing his best to shield a young boy from an approaching orc who Saaga recognizes only too well. Her white teeth grit together in anger and as if she was in a dream, her knife twirls around in her palm, just like she has done a hundred times, and during tonight she probably has, but this time around it is done with a clear intent instead of nervous fumbling.

” **Muluk!** ” She snarls at the back of Bolg’s second in command. The ugly bastard whips around, it’s disturbingly bulging yellow eyes fixing upon the girl. It screams in rage when he recognizes the woman standing in the doorway.

” **The whore of dwarves** ,” Muluk roars, spit dripping down it’s chin. Apparently it is not capable of saying anything more intelligent in it’s anger. Instead, it merely swings it’s sword around, roars, and sprints towards Saaga.

_Okay. This may not have been the best plan I have ever had._

Appearing out of nowhere Tauriel clashes her blade against Muluk’s and pushes his nasty-looking jagged sword aside. Saaga, seeing her chance, rushes forward and buries her shiny blade into the orc’s chest without a second thought. It sinks in the grey flesh with a sickening crunch that leaves Saaga gaping and blinking as she fights against the shock of what she just did.

But Muluk has caused Saaga more pain than anyone on this earth or the other. Even more than Bolg, who was luckily never given a chance to settle the score.

Muluk chokes, cocking his head, and still staring murderously at the small woman even on the last seconds of it’s life. Black blood mixes with it’s drool and trickles down it’s chin. The woman had probably hit a lung. Saaga stares right back at it, her hair in disarray but eyes clear with victory. Her upper lip curls into angry snarl.

_I have no compassion left for these fuckers._

” **When you see Bolg in hell, tell him Saaga send you** ,” she growls quietly and draws her knife out with a squelching sound. A little bit of black blood squirts on her shirt and tunic but the woman barely notices, as the orc sways where it stands and then falls to the floor with a hollow thump.

Saaga suddenly realizes that her battle was not the only one going on. The world which has been pushed to a pause starts moving again. Legolas throws one orc out of a window with a sharp kick, and Tauriel impales one on her weapon. Kíli - beautiful, deathly pale Kíli - is screaming in agony as he plunges a kitchen knife into the back of an orc. It is done more with his falling weight than any strength. When the orc falls so does Kíli, squirming and convulsing on the floor. Fíli, who had stilled from pure incredulity had a hand on the young boy’s shoulder, but his wide blue eyes are glued to Saaga. Two girls on the floor beside them, under the protection of a wooden dinner table, are clutching to each other in fright.

The orcs seem to figure they are disadvantaged because of the reinforcements on their opponents' side, and faintly Saaga can hear someone yelling them to fall back. Suddenly their attack changes tune and they are scrambling away as fast as they can. When last of them leaves, everyone in the house is breathing hard. Well, everyone else except for Tauriel and Legolas. Saaga swallows a dry mouthful and sheaths her short sword with a click.

”You killed them all,” the young boy remarks in awe, looking at the destroyed house around him. The girls stand up too, taking in the chaos around them. It was a miracle they had even survived.

”There will be more coming,” Legolas shoots back, clearly not thinking about comforting the children at all, his mind a million miles away. It looks like even Tauriel has difficulties in not rolling her eyes at the prince.

A bang of a wooden bench being pushed out of the way and it screeching against the floor startles Saaga into attention.

”How can you be here?” Fíli is rasping out, his feverish eyes taking in Saaga’s condition. ”What-? But how?”

Saaga’s stoic, battle-worn expression melts into a happy smile when she looks upon his handsome, tough, and now somewhat distraught face. Fíli is pale and shaken but as strong as a old tree in middle of a spring storm.

”Good god, it is so good to see you,” Saaga chokes out desperately, her eyes suddenly stinging from tears. Nothing puts the world back on it’s track like seeing her friends. Overwhelmed by relief Saaga strides to Fíli and pushes her hands into his golden mane, gently touching the dwarf’s sweaty forehead against hers. Their breaths puff together, noses almost touching.

”Saaga?” Fíli questions incredulously, looking at her face like he cannot quite comprehend what is happening. His eyes flicker between the woman’s, bright and clear. Fíli’s big hands find their place on Saaga’s elbows as she has yet to let her friend go. "You look terrible," Fíli whispers without a trace of humor.

”Ah, sorry,” Saaga gasps, feeling like her lower lips is going to split open again were she to smile any wider.

Then Kíli groans. It is pained and stricken with fear, and it forces the Finn’s attention towards it, the young dwarf’s name leaving her lips in a whisper. She steps away from Fíli before he manages to say another word. His hand lingers stretched towards her turned back for a second before falling.

”He has gotten worse,” Bofur says anxiously, tugging his braids. Òin nods and shakes his head desperately while wiping the sweat from Kíli’s face with linen that has clearly seen better days.

”We are losing him. Come! We must lift him to the bed.”

They all rush to help Kíli. The young dwarf is delirious, his head lolling from side to side and eye-whites flashing from under his eyelids. His face is ashen white and his cheeks burn red from fever. There are black shadows around his eyes which have sunken into his skull. They can basically see the shape of his facial bones protruding from under his skin that looks thinner than plastic wrap. Even the veins on his face are bulging, like they are trying to force their way through this thin cover that keeps Kíli together.

”Everyone, grab a limb,” Óin commands and immediately they rush to obey. Saaga, who has crouched down next to Kíli’s shoulder, raises her demanding gaze towards Fíli.

”What are you doing, Fíli? Get over here.”

The golden haired dwarf has to physically shake his head in order to clear his thoughts. Fíli blinks slowly and then moves into action to help his fallen baby brother. At the same time one of the girls leans next to Saaga and takes hold of Kíli’s arm as well. Surprised, Saaga turns her head to look at the other. She was quite young, probably around the same age as Saaga. She had a plain blue dress, but her hair has been tucked into a complex braid that ran around her head like a halo. Now that Saaga could get a closer look she realized that no, this girl was much younger than her, not even in her twenties. And yet she has been forced to see so much, the poor thing.

”Who’re you?” Saaga blurts out. The other girl turn to look at her with just as much surprise.

”Well, who’re _you_?”

”Saaga.”

”Sigrid.”

”I would say pleasure to meet you, but honestly? I wish I'd be a happier situation.”

Together they all lift the moaning and wriggling Kíli on to the bed he had once laid upon.

”Tauriel,” Legolas interrupts unceremoniously when it's done, striding across the room. ”Come.”

Never before during their short acquaintance has Saaga seen Tauriel look to unsure of herself. Her green eyes fly between the quickly disappearing back of the Mirkwood prince and the dwarf, lying on his bed and gurgling in pain. She looks so hesitant, her eyes wide, and heart clearly torn in two different directions.

Then Saaga remembers. She remembers that dark haired elven beauty riding across the country with the small hobbit that carried the Ring, who had been wounded badly by the poisonous sword. And he had survived. _Elves_  had saved him.

”Tauriel,” Saaga snaps with a clear command and steps forth, pointing a shaking finger at the elf. ”If you know any elven magic… any magic tricks, any prayers or chants that might help him… right about now would be a really good time.”

”Aye, I have heard of the healing abilities of the elves.”

Óin strolls past Saaga, limping just a little bit like an old man without his walking stick. His old face has twisted from grief. The age lines on his face look even deeper now that dirt has managed to gather into them.

”My fair lady elf,” he says kindly with the patience of a doctor. ”Hasn’t our young lad suffered enough? If ya can do anything, maybe just relieve the pain…” Óin’s words fade away and his grey eyes flicker towards the ground before fixing on Tauriel’s green ones. The female elf looks stricken.

Óin continues, ”Ya should know, the lad held ya in high regard. Now, I’ve never heard a dwarf spout out poetry, at least not the kind worth listening to, but in regards to ya… I think he came very close.”

Tauriel is so tense it looks like her beck would snap from the smallest gust of wind. However, Óin is not finished with her.

”Now, we dwarves don’t live very long. Our great creator Mahal blessed us with just enough time to do what we were meant to do. I am not trying to make ya understand the worldview of dwarves, that would be a bit of a stretch, but I think you can agree that young Kíli does not deserve this. His time has yet to come.”

Kíli’s suffering groan is the only thing to breaking the silence.

”I have seen many things during my life, lady elf. I have met quite many of yer kind for a dwarf, and I have seen what a loss of a loved one can do to ya. I believe that is why ya lot have been blessed with these healing hands,” Óin tells her, and gently gathers Tauriel’s slim hands between his rough ones. ”As I have come to understand… the immortality that yer race holds in such importance is not so much about living, but more about watching everyone else die around you, all the while you remain forever unchanged. Just looking and not getting involved.”

Tauriel gasps, her eyes filling with tears as bright as starlight. They glitter but refuse to spill.

”And thus ya have been blessed in the ways of healing. For one day, ya might find someone whose loss would break yer heart.” Knowingly the old healer looks high up to Tauriel, his expression understanding but firm. ”Dangerous thing that is for ya elves… a broken heart.”

Tauriel draws in a shuddering breath and lifts her hands from Óin’s hold to wipe her unshed tears away.

”What are you going to do, Tauriel?” Saaga asks softly and steps next to Óin.

The commander of the Mirkwood guard raises her gaze and gathers herself. It looks like Tauriel has made her decision. She looks ready for war.

”I am going to save him.”


	17. Fernweh

**Fernweh** : _a crave for travel; being homesick for a place you have never been to_

 

Kíli’s hand was cold in hers when Saaga holds it firmly down. It was like all the warmth had been washed off like dirt from atop of it, and she feared that his soul was slipping, seeping out through his white skin in the fumes of fever. Kíli was convulsing on the bedsheets, his spine popping and neck snapping, his usually so sharp eyes clouded by grey haze and veins on his face now flaming red and fully visible through his skin. It was as if all his blood was set on fire from within. Not only that, but he fought like a madman against some invisible enemy none of them could see.

Fíli had grabbed his brother’s other hand in his, kneading it gently and holding it down, whispering words of encouragement and strength in Khuzdûl even though his expression was strained from worry. Óin was staring at Tauriel by Kíli’s legs, clearly eager to learn anything and everything this could possibly teach the old healer, and Bofur was holding down the other leg, looking plain anxious. Sigrid, Tilda and Bain had given them space and were solemnly watching from the other side of the house where they were tending to each other’s minor bruises and cuts.

Later, when Saaga learned that witnessing an elf preform a healing was counted as one of the wonders of Middle-earth, she had nothing to say against the claim. Everything happened as if in a dream. Athelas - the plant Bofur had protected with his life - got mushed into a green paste that Tauriel pushed in to the arrow-wound on Kíli’s thigh and then curled her hand over it when Kíli screamed and wriggled.

And then she started speaking.

But it wasn’t just normal speaking or chanting. When Tauriel spoke, it slowly turned into something else, her voice rising and waving, coming from deep within her chest as if there was someone else speaking through her, as if she was merely a vessel through which the power flowed. Her autumn hair seemed to lighten in the bright shine that shone from her skin which glimmered like a night sky full of stars. It was pure, soft, white light, and they all had to squint or else it would have burned right through their irises. It brought tears in their eyes and it was calming and fear-inspiring all at the same time.

Saaga didn’t even dare to watch. It was like getting an opportunity to take a look upon a god’s face, and since she didn’t think she was ready for it, Saaga tucked her face into the crook of her arm, praying to all the gods she knew by name for Kíli’s survival. Her thumb massaged small, nervous circles on Kíli's palm.

Slowly, Kíli’s wriggling seemed to cease down and when Saaga sneaked a peek at him, it looked like the young dwarf was gaining consciousness. First he looked like he was sleep-walking, staring towards Tauriel like he couldn’t quite see her. Then as the elf’s words continued to flow over them, Kíli’s dark eyes regained focus, his muscles relaxed and his gaze started to flicker over Tauriel’s face instead of just staring blankly forward.

They were all quite aware of the fact that they were gaping.

By then Saaga was grinning from ear to ear as the color came back in blotches on Kíli’s face. She bit her lips hard to control the scream of victory which was about to escape, rubbing her friend’s hand harder between hers to get the blood flowing properly.

Eventually Tauriel finishes and wraps a linen over the dwarf’s leg, looking tired but satisfied. The linen wasn’t exactly sanitary but it was the best they had. Kíli was now gasping for breath, still shivering, but the color of life had returned on his features.

While all the rest of them just wanted to lean away and breath out in relief, Tauriel remained by Kíli’s bed, looking down at him, her lips parted just a tiny bit. The elf’s face was soft with emotion and no one had heart to disturb her deep thoughts.

”Oh, thank heavens,” Saaga mutters, walking to the dining-table that had been turned back upright, and slumps down on a empty chair when her wobbly legs decide to call it a day. Tiredly she pushes her fingers against her temples and massages gently. Her hair was filthy, gritty and altogether disgusting, so she retreats them quickly enough.

”That was a privilege to witness,” Óin adds, sounding awed and still stealing glances at Tauriel from the corner of his eye.

”What was that? Sorcery? Magic?” Sigrid asks with just as much awe, taking a seat next to Saaga. The older woman spares her an amused look.

”I have no clue. Probably. But whatever it was, it worked.” Saaga takes a look around the house the orcs had destroyed. Furniture was all over the place, tableware destroyed and the roof was in shambles. But despite all the rubbish and timber the place looked strangely empty. Something essential was missing.

”By the way, where is everyone? Where’s Thorin?”

Fíli shrugs at Saaga’s question, looking like he was very much trying not to look as annoyed as he felt when he also turned another chair the right way around and took a seat. ”The others went for the mountain. Durin’s Day was almost upon us and they had to leave in order to reach the mountain before it’s last light.”

”They left you behind?” Saaga repeats incredulously, leaning forward in her chair. ”Kíli was dying and they just _left_?”

”Uncle had no choice. It was a once in a lifetime chance and we didn’t realize Kíli would turn so ill so quickly. When they left it was just a minor fever.”

”But was Kíli-… hey, whoa, wait a second. Whose uncle are we talking about? Who is an uncle?”

”Well, Thorin obviously, lass,” Óin cuts in, sounding confused. Saaga on the other hand has to close her eyes slowly to absorb this new information. She crinkles her forehead in concentration, her fingers waving in the air before coming to point at Fíli.

”Now hold on a second. You aren’t pulling my leg, are you? _Thorin_  is your uncle?” She threw a look towards the golden haired dwarf, incredulous confusion written all over her face.

”Aye,” Fíli confirms, looking like he didn't quite get the woman’s disbelief. ”Everyone has a right to be oblivious from time to time but I feel like you are abusing the privilege. I thought you knew. _Everyone_ knows. It's hardly a secret.”

”Ah, yeah. We never really got to that part, now did we?” Bofur says with amused smirk, laughing at Saaga’s annoyed expression. ”What do ya care who is whose uncle, lass?”

”No, no… it’s just that… Nothing, I was just surprised. I hadn’t realized it before.”

On the inside Saaga is face-palming herself hard. _Hard_. Like hard enough to make her see stars and galaxies; more like internally punching herself in the face, because why on earth did these things keep happening to her? Had she pissed the gods off and as a punishment they had send her here to completely humiliate herself? They were probably laughing at the show while passing along a big fucking bucket of popcorn.

Saaga had bloody well gone and kissed the prince of Erebor.

Saaga sends Fíli a frustrated look and then buries her face in her hands. She exhales slowly as the dwarf’s expression remains confused.

She had _tongue-battled_ with  _the crown prince of Erebor._

_For fuck's sake._

At the Carrock Saaga had been positive that things couldn’t get any worse. How could they have, it had been _hell_  so far. She had been so wrong. _Oh_ , so wrong! First of all, Thorin was going to strangle her. Secondly, Dwalin was going to raise her from the dead just so he could murder her all over again because it was simply not proper to smooch princes. It wasn’t proper for anyone but least of all her. Saaga was a beggar, she had no home, no lineage, no money, she had…. she had _nothing_. She was _nothing_.

Then Kíli whispers, ”Do you think she could have loved me?”

They all turn to look and notice that Kíli is reaching towards Tauriel’s hand and then gently grasping it. They can see how Tauriel’s breath stutters and her fingers slowly reach towards his hand - shaking - and carefully their fingers rub together, smooth against hardened.

 _'Found him interesting' my ass_ , Saaga thinks and her face melts into a soft smile. Tauriel was clearly falling in love and she was falling fast and totally at a wrong time and to a wrong person. None of the other dwarves looked pleased at the sight but they don’t move to intervene, not even Fíli. They had no right to do that after the elf had saved Kíli’s life and brought him back from the brink of death. Saaga herself just remains surprised that it seemed that Kíli was actually reciprocating Tauriel’s feelings despite all odds, despite all expectations and difficulties. Just free-falling for someone took a lot of courage.

”We should also head to the mountain,” Bofur says and they can all guess he is worried about his brothers. The miner’s words make everyone avert their eyes from Kíli and Tauriel.

”Kíli will need a few days to recover,” Óin points out, ”but after that, yes. We should make haste. They could need our help.”

”Well, I hope there wasn’t any riddles at the mountain door because if there was, they aren’t getting inside without me,” Saaga says worriedly. If there was and the dwarves couldn’t get in and Thorin would find out she was indeed alive… well, at least he now had more than one reason to kill her.

This was going very well indeed.

”What about you, lady Saaga?” Tauriel asks and finally turns away from Kíli but her hand remains stretched towards the young dwarf even as she lines her body to hide it from the view of others. ”What are you going to do now?”

”You’re asking me?” Saaga blurts in surprise, pointing incredulously at herself. ”I guess I’ll go to the mountain with them. I don’t know if there is anything I can do to help but I’ve been stuck with these nutters all the way here, so I might as well see the quest through.” At Bofur’s amused look Saaga continues, ”What? You guys are crazy. Where’s the lie?”

Tauriel stays rigidly still, her eyes mapping across Saaga’s bruised face. Finally she turns towards Óin who immediately straightens to his full height which, to tell the truth, wasn’t that impressive.

”Master Dwarf, I have to ask… did lady Saaga truly join this quest with Mithrandir’s blessing?”

”Aye, she did,” Óin answers and nudges the damaged hearing-trumpet in his ear while throwing a sidelong glance at Saaga who remains slumped on the chair. ”Gandalf was the one who introduced the lass to us. Though she came to us in queer circumstances, dressed in the most peculiar clothing in the middle of nowhere. Almost gave us a heart-attack, she did, appearing suddenly from deep woods. Didn’t expect to meet anyone in there and yet, there the lass was, looking as strange as ever.”

”So it is true then,” Tauriel whispers in sudden awe, ”you _are_  with Mithrandir.”

”I did try to tell you,” Saaga shrugs. Why would she lie about something like that?

”So when you said you came from a different w-”

”NO!” Saaga shrieks in high-pitched voice and jumps up on her feet so fast that Sigrid on her right startles as well, almost jumping out of her skin.

Honestly, the dwarves didn’t need to know about Saaga’s origins as of yet because she really preferred to leave the explaining to Gandalf. She wasn’t in the mood to be put through another interrogation after having survived one with the elves.

Awkwardly Saaga stands there, hands reached towards Tauriel as if to physically stop the words from coming out her mouth. Everyone was now staring at her in confusion.

”I-I mean… It’s wizard business. You should ask Gandalf when you see him.” She sends Tauriel a look of pure _don't-you-dare_  that the elf hopefully would understand.

Seriously Tauriel nods at Saaga, her expression turning determined.

”That I will. But for now, if you are going to the mountain, then I will follow you if you ask it of me. We shouldn’t have turned down the council of Maiar, I understand that now. I will not make the same mistake again. Even if it is in our nature to merely observe, we must act when it is for the good of this world.”

”Okay?” Saaga asks unsurely, cocking her head at Tauriel and waving her hand vaguely towards the direction she thought the mountain was. ”Well if you want to come, I can’t really stop you. It is up to the company anyway, I don’t get to decide who can come along and who doesn’t. Thorin makes all decisions like that.”

Tauriel frowns at her words.

”Don’t the dwarves hold the opinion of Maia in high enough regard to put their own opinions aside?”

Finally Fíli interrupts them, his eyebrows crinkling.

”Why do you keep calling her that?”

Saaga was feeling just as confused.

”I don’t know what that word even means.”

Now they are all just frowning at each other. A bunch of confused people frowning in a circle.

However, before any of them can start to sort out this mess of confusing nick-names, they are interrupted by booming of a warning bell. The sound was so loud it makes them cover their ears and cringe while Sigrid, Tilda and Bain rushed to the door and windows, looking outside.

”That’s the warning bell!” Tilda exclaims in awe, voicing everyone’s thoughts out loud.

”But… but Da said it hasn’t rang since…” Bain starts but his words fades away the same time as the healthy color on his cheeks does. He soon looks as pale as Kíli as some kind of realization dawns on his face.

”What is it for? Are we under another attack?” Bofur rushes to the window while holding his hat in place and sticks his whole head out, turning around to spot the threat.

”That bell hasn’t rang since the dragon was last seen,” Sigrid says, her hands gripping the windowsill. ”If it’s ringing again… but it must be a mistake!”

But the bell continues to ring so loudly that they can probably hear it ringing in their ears for days to come. Distantly they can also hear people screaming orders and others just plain screaming.

”Are you seriously saying we are being attacked by a dragon?” Saaga shouts over the clanging, her hands covering her ears. She looked more pissed off than scared, funnily enough. ”Are friggin' kidding me right now? We just survived the orcs and now it’s a bloody _dragon_?”

Tauriel rushes outside to stand on the porch, moonlight shining on her face and night wind nipping the color off her cheeks. First she looked down at the people of Laketown, who were panicking and clearly in the middle of evacuation. Then the elf raises her eyes towards the sky. Usually when she gazed upon the stars she felt peace, as their light shone on her and covered her like a comforting blanket. But now when she looked up towards them, she felt nothing but cold dread.

The sound was faint, carried by wind to Tauriel’s sensitive ears and almost drowned under the sound of humans that were terrified out of their minds. It sounded as if the skies themselves were growling at her. Now, elves did not look terrified under any circumstances, especially not Tauriel the captain of the guard, who had been forced to face the horrors of Middle-earth since she was but an elfling. However, this lethal terror that the angry snarling puts forth in her veins forces her to actually have to concentrate on smoothing out her features. The darkness of Morgoth himself was covering the night sky, hiding the stars that had always lead her home without a fail. There was nothing but darkness above them - darkness and wickedness and bloodlust - and it was heading their way.

”We have no time!” Tauriel says urgently, striding back inside and to Tilda, covering the small girl in blankets. ”We must leave. Quickly now!”

And so, everything turned into chaos. Bofur rushed to the kitchen and started filling his backpack with anything edible: bread, cheese, apples and strips of meat found their way to the darkness of his bulging bag along with a few kitchen knives. Next Bain and Tauriel started arguing about whether the children should stay behind and wait for their father or leave to the safety with the remains of Thorin’s company. While running past them Saaga snaps at Sigrid and Tilda to get ready, without their brother or not, because they weren’t going to leave them behind into a certain death, _what were they thinking_. After her words Tauriel throws a look at Bain, encouraging the young man to listen to the word of Maia - a phrase that still didn’t make any sense to Saaga - but thankfully it send the children into haste, so it wasn’t like she could have complained.

Kíli had regained his full consciousness by then, pretty much. He was still weakened and tired but demanded to stand on his own - curse the stubbornness of dwarves - before Saaga snaps angrily at him too and dives under his arm, holding him upright. She had no pity for the wounded that refused to accept help.

”Do you want to live, or shall we all just die because of your pride?”

Kíli might not have been at his sharpest at that time, but he could see the plain fear on his companion’s faces clearly enough to finally succumb into the fate of being half-carried into the boat. Óin had disentangled it from the dock and now kept it firmly in place as they all climbed in. Fíli and Bofur jumped in it first, helping everyone else find their seats. Saaga took a seat next to Tilda who was seated between her and Sigrid where older girls could wrap her in blankets and curl their arms protectively over her shoulders.

”It’s going to be alright,” Sigrid is whispering to her confused little sister. ”Everything is going to be alright. Just hang on tight, yeah? Da will find us and he will take care of everything. You know how he is, always taking care of us.”

And off they go without a further due. The boat slides onwards, pushing the floating blocks of wood off their way. The warning bells were still clanging, people were still shouting and screaming, and then…

And then.

Have you ever been to Natural History Museum in London? If you have, you without a doubt remember the sheer awe you felt when you saw that real-sized blue whale hanging from the ceiling above you. It had been so incomprehensibly massive that you started feeling faint while wondering how a living being that was so large that it couldn’t fit in your sight at a glance could even exist. You had seen the drawings before of course - of a man and a whale drawn to scale side by side - but until you are actually staring up at the real-sized thing, there was no way you could have truly understood how small and unimportant you were.

That was pretty much how Saaga felt like when that shadowy figure glided over them.

_Existential crisis, anyone?_

They were petrified, staring after the dragon’s massive shadow that then disappeared into the mist. They felt their skin rise on goosebumps and eyes widen in alarm as the air whooshed past. Saaga’s mouth was hanging wide open, her thoughts completely stuttering to a halt at the sight. Unconsciously she had leaned backwards in her seat.

A long time ago the northerner had read a fantasy book about dragon-riders. At the time it had seemed exciting and dragons fascinating, and the friendship between that massive creature and it’s rider had been inspiring but now that Saaga got a chance to look upon an actual dragon… Why would it ever let anyone ride on it’s back? The idea was ludicrous. On the dragon’s side humans and dwarves and all living beings were nothing but specks of dust that the dragon could wipe out of existence with a small movement. They were insects, they were bacteria, they were… they meant next to nothing to it.

”You thought you could fight _that_?” Saaga finally manages and turns to look at Bofur, Fíli and Kíli who were seated behind her. Her voice trembles half from pure fear and half from rage, because _why_  would these idiots ever want to face a creature of that size. Saaga was merely 164 centimeters - but that was 164 centimeters of pure whoop-ass - and damn it if she wasn't going to use every single inch to maximum potential when smacking Thorin next time she laid her eyes on that fool of a king. For now she just hisses at the other dwarves: ”How did you ever think you were going to succeed?! It’s impossible. _Insane!_ ”

”We hoped it had died,” Fíli says with a serious face, still looking towards the sky and clearly worrying about what was to come. Inside, Saaga was quietly wondering if she should smack Fíli as well, as he so conveniently happened to be Thorin’s nephew. He could be held at least partly responsible. Maybe the stupid-gene ran in the family.

”The dragon hadn’t been seen in the last 60 years.”

"So you thought this was all gonna be a picnic in a park, did you?!" Saaga bites, her voice laced with angry sarcasm.

"There is need to be so pessimistic!" Fíli jabs back with just as much tenseness in his posture.

"Pessimis-?! I'm sorry, _how exactly_  could I be positive in this situation? I don't tend to sugarcoat shit, Fíli. I'm not Willy Wonka."

"I can't argue with you when I don't understand half of the words you use! The point remains, we thought the dragon was dead."

”And now you have gone and awakened it!” Bain exclaims furiously and turns to look at the bickering pair from the front part of the boat. He looked downright ready to explode any them. ”Da was right, you have brought nothing but destruction and ruin upon us. We should have never helped you.”

”We had the right to try!” Kíli snaps tiredly, still clutching his thigh where the arrow-wound was. That acted as a confirmation for Saaga when she decided that _yep, the stupid-gene did run in the family along with pride that could get you killed_.

Dwarves were morons.

”Well this day is turning out _just great_! Orcs! Dragons! I mean come on, how could this get any worse? Next it starts spitting out fire like a fucking flame-thrower or something? Wouldn't that be hilarious? I mean, it doesn't  _actually_  breath fire, does it?” Saaga exhales, her mind whirring over Bofur’s words - _cremation!_  - that the miner had voiced at the Carrock. Tauriel sends the Finn a look over her shoulder that implies the worst and it makes Saaga’s eyes comically widen.

” _Does it?_ "

And suddenly everything explodes as an answer to her innocent question. She felt sorry for asking.

It was a whirl-flood of heat and flames, of thick smoke and blindingly bright light, and it made them scream from the sheer unexpectedness of it. Saaga and Sigrid throw themselves over Tilda as the heat explodes and licks at their backs while the flames and exploding, burning wood, threw flickering pieces of ember in their direction. When the hot wind blows over Saaga’s face and sends her hair into further disarray, the woman wonders whether her hair could catch fire from the sheer heat. At least she wasn’t wearing hairspray, thank god for that, her whole head would have burst aflame.

As soon as it came the heat disappeared, leaving them feeling flushed with it, but the houses behind them remained in the midst of brightly burning orange flames. Someone screamed in pain from somewhere in their direction, ash slowly rained down on the company, and they all coughed because of the burning smoke that invaded their lungs.

When Saaga finally lifts her head from Tilda’s shoulder, she finds Fíli’s face right next her own. Saaga could feel his breath on her cheek as she turns her head enough to look him in the eye. It seemed that the dwarf had leaned over their backs, his other hand on Tilda’s shoulder and other wrapped around Saaga’s, to protect them with his body. He had flung himself over them without a moment of hesitation, burying his face in Saaga’s hair, and the thought of those flames burning Fíli’s back made Saaga’s stomach twist around from terror. Thankfully the dwarf didn’t seem to be in pain so they probably hadn’t been close enough for the flames to do any real damage.

”Thanks,” Saaga exhales shakily, her eyes wide when Fíli just nods at her, his blue eyes never leaving the sky. He straightens himself again and grasps an oar, pushing their boat on the move again. Bofur does the same, grasping another one with grim determination.

”We need to head for the land. Head for the open water.”

”I’ll guide you,” Tauriel offers and takes her places at the tip of the boat. She looks just as determined to survive this. ”Take it left from here.”

They float in between the burning houses and every once in a while their whole vision bursts ablaze and the roars of the dragon echo in their ears when it dives through the skies and over Laketown, breathing its fiery flames down upon them. Tauriel leads them with calmness through the destruction, under the docks and by side of houses that were burning down like torches, lightning up the otherwise dark sky.

”There is no need to be ashamed of fear, my boy,” Saaga can hear Óin comforting Bain. ”Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. Only a fool would not fear the dragonfire.”

Saaga glances at the girls on her side and finds them clutching to each other. It seemed that Tilda’s presence was the only thing keeping Sigrid from succumbing into hysteria and despair but they were both frigid, eyes impossibly wide with fear.

”Where’s Da?” Tilda whispers in a constant stream, seeming to be stuck on one phrase. ”I want Da, where is he?”

”Shh, he’ll find us. It’s going to be alright. Da would never abandon us.”

”But where is he?”

Finally the warning-bell stops ringing. Either someone got fed up with it or the dragon did and brought it down. Nevertheless, it only made the crackling of the flames sound louder.

”DA!” Bain suddenly screams, almost standing up in the boat to the other’s horror. Kíli roughly forces him to sit back down with a hand on his shoulder. They all take a look at the watchtower towards which the young boy was staring at with an open mouth.

”Da,” Tilda whispers as Sigrid sucks in a shocked breath.

Even from this far away - ironically thanks to the bright flames - they could see a man in the watchtower who shot arrow after another at the beast flying over and around him. There was no need to voice anyone’s thoughts out loud. The man was brave for trying, but he was on a fool’s errand as in no time the beast would notice him and bring the whole wooden structure down. For it, it would be like bringing down a house made of matchsticks.

”He hit it!” Kíli shouts suddenly in awe and twitches where he is seated, looking like he himself suddenly wished to be up there to shoot an arrow at the dragon. ”He hit his mark, I saw it!”

”No,” Tauriel breaths and misery paints her voice. It was clear she had accepted the loss against the mighty beast. ”His arrows cannot pierce it’s hide. I fear no weapon can.”

The elf’s words seem to spark a some kind of a recognition in Bain’s eyes and as the next dock passes them, the young boy flings himself out of the boat, rolls over on the dock and starts running straight towards the watchtower. Saaga, who had half expected something like this to happen, flings herself after the boy.

"NO!" She roars, throwing herself forward. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

The brunette manages to wrap her hand around Bain's ankle, and with air whooshing out of his lungs, Bain falls smack on his front. Saaga doesn't fare much better as the movement jerks her forward, crushing her ribs against the side of the boat and the dock. 

"Let me go! Let! Me! Go!" 

Bain wriggles like a fish caught fresh from the lake, desperate and slippery, and Saaga can't manage to keep him in place. With a frustrated snarl Saaga's grip slips and Bain scrambles away from them. 

"No, Bain, get back here!"

Despite the flair of brightly burning pain in her ribs, Saaga throws her cloak aside and attempts to run after the boy. She barely has time to get her other foot on the dock before she's forcefully ripped backwards herself.

"No!"

Incredulously Saaga stares after Bain's disappearing back that looks pathetically small amongst the smoke. The Finn snarls and pushes Fíli's arms off of her, ready to face him with all her wrath.

"What the hell, man?! He's gonna get himself killed, I have to stop him."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? He's still a kid, he doesn't know what he's doing."

Fíli visibly swallows, his Adam's apple popping. His blue eyes trail on anything but Saaga's face.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no."

"So? It's a kid we're talking about here. I need to stop him."

Saaga's eyes flicker from one sapphire orb to another. Fíli shakes his head, his large hand gripping at Saaga's arm.

"No. Not you."

”Leave him,” Tauriel orders calmly, ending their argument as she steers the boat away from the dock. ”We cannot go back.”

Saaga swallows, ash stuck at the roof of her mouth. She wrenches her hand away from Fíli's desperately firm grip. Then she takes a step closer to the dwarf, her upper lip rising into a snarl. 

"Never do that again."

Without another word Saaga turns, sits back down and wraps her arms over Tilda and Sigrid both. She hoped that neither of them were as hot-headed as their brother. There was nothing else she could do to protect them than to hold them back.

There was one grim thought in her head.

If the gods had sent Saaga here to destroy the dragon - as unthinkable as it seemed - she had failed to fulfill their impossible expectations.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end Saaga’s worries had been for naught. Just before the night started turning into a gloomy morning, the dragon over Laketown _screeched_  instead of roaring and writhed in the air, resembling a drowning man that was struggling to reach the surface with it’s last strength.

And as the dragon had screamed, Saaga had slammed her hands over her poor ears, eyes rolling uncontrollably around in their sockets. It felt like someone was drilling needles in her temples at the same time as they were trying to make her deaf. The children, dwarves and Tauriel had been too fixed on the figure in the sky to notice Saaga’s misery, so she had gritted her teeth together and tried to stuff the edge of the blanket into her ear canals. It had honestly felt as if Smaug was screeching right next to her ear and for that she could probably thank her language skills. It seemed that the dragon had been a intelligent, conscious being; just like Beorn and the spiders of Mirkwood had been. If it hadn’t been, Saaga would have been spared from this migraine. She could only thank her luck for never having to _exchange words_  with that big worm.

Now that would have made a story, right?

Finally Sigrid had turned her brown eyes towards Saaga, finding the other grimacing from pain, shivering, and a thin layer of sweat forming on her forehead. When she saw the pleading look the northerner send her, Sigrid had merely landed her hands protectively over Saaga’s hunched back, fingers kneading into the fabric of Saaga’s tunic. It had been a small comfort, but just about all Saaga could have endured at the moment without feeling crowded.

As said, the dragon had writhed and screamed in the air before all strength had left it’s muscles and then it had fallen through the clouds and mist like a ghost, and dropped smack in the middle of Laketown. If the town had been destroyed before, it was now destroyed beyond any repair. The hit had send ripples all over the lake and finally, _finally_  Saaga had been able to breath evenly again.

”What happened?”

”How did that happen? Is it dead?”

”Da killed it,” Tilda had announced suddenly with absolute certainty.

They had left it at that.

When the cold morning breaks in, it colors everything into a haze of grey and blue and white. The shore was full of people, some of them dragging their few belongings with them to the dry land, some the cooling bodies of family members. Laketown had turned into pillars of black wood that still send a thin stripe of smoke curling towards the high heavens. People of Laketown looked strange, but soon the company members had realized it was because ash had painted their desperate faces grey.

They land on the shore and immediately Sigrid and Tilda scramble away from them, yelling for their father and brother, getting lost into the hassle of the crowd. No one goes after them because they need to rush towards the mountain and the two girls would without a doubt be taken care of by their own people.

At that moment, Tauriel was a bright contrast against everyone else. The color of her hair burned like a torch against everyone else’s, and her bright green tunic stood out against the people who were all dressed in grey and dulled blue. When she turned to look at what was left of the original company, Saaga knew the elf wouldn’t fit in their midst either. Not right now, or not yet, at least.

”Tauriel,” Saaga had said softly, ”you need do what feels like the right thing.”

”But what if I am not certain what is right anymore? I feel… confused.”

Why would she expect Saaga to know an answer to that? The human had just sighed, feeling tired and rubbed her bruised throat absentmindedly. ”I couldn’t possibly tell you what you ought to do. Just breath in and decide,” she had suggested. Then she had thrown a look over her shoulder towards Kíli, who had been looking towards them this whole time. Saaga had turned to face Tauriel again and whispered, ”but you need to _decide_.”

Leaving it at that, Saaga had turned to help Bofur, Óin and Fíli push the boat on water again while Kíli went to talk to Tauriel. However that relationship was going to turn out, it wasn’t going to be easy on either participant, and just to make things worse - even thought Saaga was glad to see him unharmed - Legolas had appeared as if out of thin air to demand Tauriel to come with him.

And Tauriel had made her decision.

Partly Saaga understood it, as it was clearly made with head and not with heart, but looking at Kíli’s sour expression for the rest of the day had Saaga hoping Tauriel would have joined them. Besides, what if Kíli fell ill again? There was no help for them in the middle of nowhere. Partly, however, Saaga was glad Tauriel and Legolas had stayed with the people of Laketown. Those poor bastards had nothing left to call a home and Saaga’s heart went out for them. She could only hope they would manage to come up with something, and that Sigrid and Tilda would find their brave father and brother. Hopefully alive, though it was unlikely.

The five of them spend the day traveling by the river. When they finally stopped for the night Óin, much to everyone's misery, announced that tomorrow they would have to continue on foot. Thankfully whatever Tauriel had done to Kíli’s leg had been near  _miraculous_  as he could already put almost his weight on it, only grimacing from the exercise when he thought no one was looking. Óin predicted that it would forever leave a scar as most wounds inflicted by poisoned orc-weaponry did if the victim somehow survived, but he would heal otherwise. Kíli had been a lucky bastard. Well, Óin had called him blessed but Saaga preferred the first description.

But even if they were all alive and relatively unharmed - even when Saaga’s bruises were healing, slowly changing color into sickly yellow and green at the edges - there was no celebration. Not even when the dragon had died because the fear, the all-consuming depression, of the fact that most likely the rest of their company lay dead within the mountain, had drained all happiness from within them. Yes, they were glad they hadn’t been forced to face the dragon eye to eye but what had happened to their friends who had. Were they traveling towards a graveyard? Whatever lay behind this wasteland scared the living spirits out of them.

The mood was altogether grim over their small supper. Not even Bofur was in mood to cheer anyone up and his black eyes constantly flickered towards the looming mountain. In worst case, he had not only lost his friends but his brothers as well, and the thought made him jittery and nervous. The same fate went for Óin, though he remained surprisingly calm about the subject.

”It will be as Mahal meant it to be,” he had said bluntly and then tucked his ear trumpet away as a clear sign not to bother him again with useless worrying.

When the darkness had finally fallen over them again came the night, Saaga had fallen within it. She breathed in the smoke from their campfire and dreamed of burning within Sigrid’s father’s house, trapped inside where no one heard her scream. After that she dreamt of Bolg which turned out to be even more terrible than dreaming of burning alive.

She saw of him looming over her, those massive, pale, scarred hands mapping her soft flesh, groping her from all the places she didn’t wish to be touched and laughing at her when Saaga screamed and thrashed and tried to pull away from his violent grip. His bulging, milky-white eye had gazed over her body as if undressing her with the bare look, and Saaga had sobbed in disgust and fear because soon… soon her would force himself upon her and take and take and _take_ … and  _oh, why had Saaga ever thought she could do this?_

The northerner awakes with a startle that sends her sitting upright, stiff as a copper rod, staring forward and wheezing. She doesn’t scream because she rarely does when waking from a nightmare but it does make her tremble all the same. The woman buries her head in her arms and draws her knees to her chest, almost hyperventilating.

_Breathe, girl. In from the nose, out from the mouth. Steady now._

Saaga sobs dryly, drawing in quiet, shuddering and shaky breaths because she feared waking up her companions. She really needed to stay quiet.

Besides, Bolg was dead, Saaga had made sure of it by forcing Legolas to shoot him in the head for a second time. So why,  _why did that bastard continue haunting her?!_

Suddenly someone is touching her arm.

With a terrified shriek Saaga throws herself backwards, the only thought in her head being _away, away from the touch!_  and her back collides with a tree with a force enough to leave a bruise at her back. Teeth clattering - not from cold but from pure fear - Saaga stares at Fíli’s stunned face. Her eyes are wide enough to show her eye-whites and while blinking, Saaga wonders if she had just managed to look like a startled horse.

”Whoa,” Fíli whispers, looking just as startled as Saaga felt, his hands surrendered up in the air. ”Calm.”

”Is exactly opposite of what I’m feeling,” Saaga wheezes back on reflex and rubs her hands over her face, purely wanting to hide her distressed expression. Unfortunately it’s wet and Saaga curses when she realizes she had probably been crying in her sleep. Fíli on the other hand looks awkward, but not as awkward as Legolas had looked when facing a PTSD-patient having a seizure. In fact, Fíli was just as wonderfully calm as always, the fire behind him making him look like his golden locks had turned into a halo. A literal angel, compared to Bolg at least.

”So would you like to… do you want to talk about it?” Fíli asks with a soft, unsure voice. He takes a more comfortable seat, giving Saaga all the space she could possibly need, and toys with the edge of his sword-handle.

”Fuck no,” Saaga spits out and immediately regrets it when the other raises an eyebrow. ”Sorry,” she whispers remorsefully. She had never wished for a handkerchief as hard in her life as she did right now. Where did these people blow their noses? Knowing dwarves, probably on their sleeves. "But no, I don't want to talk. And I'm still pissed at you."

"You're mad at me?"

"Mad? Yup. Furious? Also, yup."

"What have I done?" Fíli asks, genuinely incredulous.

"You stopped me from stopping Bain from running into his death," Saaga accuses sourly, wiping her nose at the same time.

"You're mad at me for protecting you? You're a very strange woman."

"You know exactly why I'm mad about what happened. You're not stupid, so don't degrade me by assuming that I would think that."

Fíli has at least decency to look away at the accusation. He doesn't apologize for his actions though, and so they fall into a silence.

”You were talking in your sleep,” the dwarf admits after a while, and Saaga freezes on her spot. Dammit, what if Fíli had heard her begging Bolg to stop? Had she cried and weeped and mumbled her embarrassing story out loud whilst unconscious?

”Couldn’t make out the half of it, thought. Your language sounds very strange.”

_Oh, thank you ancient people of the North for making Finnish sound like utter gibberish._

”But it did sound like something bad.”

This time both Fíli and Saaga startle as Kíli suddenly rolls to face them, his expression exhausted but completely awake. He settles more comfortably on the ground and curls his arm as a pillow under his head, all the while looking at Saaga.

”What did you dream about? It sounded _bad_.”

Saaga swallows and slumps against the tree trunk.

”I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry if it bothered you though.”

”How could I sleep when you sound like a dying kitten? Talk, it could make you feel better. Besides, it’s just me and Fíli.”

”Nothing could make me feel better.”

”That bad, huh?”

”Yeah,” Saaga chokes out and raises her eyes towards the sky, blinking rapidly in order to banish the moistness from her eyes. She doesn’t dare to look at either brother.

”You never did tell us how you escaped from the orcs,” Fíli points out.

”Disgracefully, if you really need to know. Leave it be, I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” the woman hisses.

”So it was about the orcs, just as we thought,” Kíli says.

For a second Saaga passionately hates them both for being a pair of bloody detectives.

”Please, guys, let’s talk about something else. Anything. I don’t want to… to…”

_I don't want to keep re-living it._

For a slip-second Kíli looks like he is going to argue as his brows furrow and his mouth opens to deliver an argument, but Fíli beats him to it. Maybe there is something in the pleading look on Saaga’s face or maybe the golden prince was feeling emphatic but whatever it was, Saaga felt grateful for it.

Fíli whispers, ”Uncle said Erebor is really beautiful. He said it is the greatest dwarrow kingdom that ever was and ever will be. I’m still having trouble understanding we’re this close to it.”

Kíli sends a confused look at his brother but Saaga is breathing out in relief, slowly relaxing against the tree instead of just leaning as a boneless heap leaning on it.

_Thank you, Fíli, thank you, I love you, thank you._

”Yeah?” Saaga mumbles, looking into the flickering flames that send shadows dancing on their faces. ”What’s it like?”

”We’ve never seen it, me and Kíli. We weren’t even born when Erebor was stolen from us. But Thorin has been telling us stories about it as long as I can remember. Stories of great halls and great kings, of treasures beyond our understanding.”

”I think we have a word for that,” Saaga sighs softly, eyeing Fíli from beneath half-closed eyelids. ”Fernweh. It means having homesickness for a place you’ve never been to. Sounds like you've caught it.”

”Is it in your language? The northern one?”

Should she say yes? No? In the end, Saaga bring herself to lie to Fíli about trivial things like this.

”No, I think it’s German. I speak only few words of that. Our language is called Finnish.”

”Finn-ish,” Fíli tries to replicate the new word as he strokes his mustache. ”Never heard of it before.”

”Bet you haven’t,” Saaga mumbles too quietly for either Fíli or Kíli to hear.

”So, what’s it like?” Kíli asks and rolls on his back this time, staring up to the night sky, his gaze gliding over strange star constellations Saaga could hardly even guess at. He seemed to have accepted the distraction.

”What?”

”Your home,” Kíli whispers. ”You hardly ever talk about it but I bet you miss it.”

”Yeah, yeah, we’re all homesick fools, aren’t we?” Saaga cracks a smile at her own words.

”Won’t you tell us about it?” Fíli prompts and lifts his swords up so he can lean on it whilst sitting. ”About the great tales of your people.”

Saaga can’t help it. She snorts and has to muffle her giggle into the sleeve of her tunic. At the brothers’ raised eyebrows and crooked smirks she just waves.

”Great tales of our people? Well, there was this one guy who wrote about seven drunkard brothers who hid in the woods because they didn’t want to go to school. It’s a national treasure, that one.”

”Sounds a bit too much like the days when Óin  _insisted_ on tutoring us,” Kíli points out and now they all have to hold their giggles down so that they don’t end up waking Bofur and Óin, though Óin probably wouldn’t wake up even if there was a samba-carneval held right next to him.

”But seriously, Saaga. We’ve told you all kind of stories about what’s waiting for us in Erebor. You know our history, I’ve heard you talking to Balin about it. Won’t you tell us what’s waiting for you at home?”

Immediately Saaga was ready to spill them all about her parents and friends and hobbies, but she comes to a halt as she thinks over them. Suddenly all those things felt far, far away from her as if covered in mist. They had been for a quite a while now, the clearest memory still being her parent’s kind expressions but they were slowly blurring away as well. Saaga would have given anything for a photograph. Otherwise, everything else she had once held dear was turning into a haze of jumbled images and fleeting, barely recognizable emotions, combined with short flashbacks. There was a life before she came to Middle-earth and a life after. Two separate settings, two different Saagas.

It was unsettling.

And anyways, why was she so desperate to get home? Saaga had friends _here_. She had purpose and hobbies and _hobbits_  and _meaning_  in her life and yet she yearned to go back. Why? What was so important? What was she failing to remember? The woman had been so focused on just going home that there had been no room for further consideration. What if she truly couldn’t go back? What would she miss?

”Sometimes when the night is clear, you might be tempted enough to leave your warm house and go outside in the wintertime. The frost will turn your eyelashes and hair white, and sometimes its so cold that if you throw hot water in the air it crystallizes immediately and rains down as ice,” she whispers softly, eyes glazed over from memories. ”And if there are no clouds in the sky you can see the northern lights.”

”What are those?” Kíli asks with wide eyes, looking much younger than he did a minute ago. Saaga smiles a nostalgic smile in his direction.

”When the night is pitch black it can suddenly just… it lights on _fire_. The lights dance in the sky and paint it vivid green, red and violet, and people will travel through several countries just for a chance to see a glimpse. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Like watching pure essence of magic unravel above you.”

”The sky lights on fire?” Fíli repeats incredulously. ”That sounds terrible.”

”Like the end of the world,” Kíli points out.

”Oh, only if I could show you, I think you would have a change of mind. In the old times people used to say it was the spirits of our ancestors that had came to guide us or tell us something important. It's that magical.”

”Did they ever tell anything to you? Your ancestors?” Kíli continues, sounding intrigued.

”Nah,” Saaga smiles, closing her eyes. She was finally feeling calm. ”I guess they never had anything important enough to chat about. It's a shame, really. I bet my female ancestors would have been really badass.”

Quietly Fíli turns to lean towards Kíli in order share a look. 

He quietly whispers, "What on earth is a ' _badass_ '? How could your behind turn bad? Why would you wish for that?"

All Kíli can do is shrug theatrically, looking slightly disgusted.


	18. Kenopsia

**Kenopsia:**   _The eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet_

 

If Fíli had thought the journey to Erebor would be a rough one even for the dwarrows, he had been right. The desolation had truly earned it’s name as there only stretched a sea of brown grass in all directions eyes could see. Spattered with random rocks and wilted willows, the surroundings of once a magnificent dwarven kingdom were a heart-wrenching sight. Balin had always told Fíli stories of busy market roads, surrounded by green meadows than turned into a snowy tip of Lonely Mountain when one slid gaze high enough. Now what was left of those were the ghosts of once a lively road and ruins where there had been taverns and guesthouses for the weary travelers. Centuries of dwarvish history was scattered, in pieces and half buried by the sides of routes leading to Lonely Mountain.

But despite all the heartbreak and destruction Fíli had always strongly believed that it was not too late to breath life into this forge. The core of their legacy was not yet ashen cold.

Fíli had always believed that there would once again be a time when Erebor would regain it’s former glory and take it’s rightful place in Middle-earth as the unbeatable dwarven stronghold and Thorin would be the one and only king of that famous mountain. As Thorin was a direct descendant of the line of Durin the Deathless there was no question about who had earned the right to be king but what Fíli had always found most admirable about his uncle was that he was still as much a king as he would have been in Erebor, even after when he had been forced out of his family’s kingdom. He had lead the dwarrows of lost Erebor into a new life from the midst of chaos and mourning. He had looked after each and every one of them. Thorin had never turned away from honest work, never did he succumb into misery or allow no one to degrade the dwarrows who now wandered without a home.

” _Not all who wander are lost_ ,” Balin had once said as he and little Fíli watched Thorin beat a piece of metal into a spear-tip under the amazed gazes of Men, ” _they are simply on their way home._ ”

” _Then why are we taking such a long way around?_ ” Fíli had asked almost angrily.

At the time he hadn’t understood the dangers of what reclaiming Erebor would mean. He had been bold even as a child - and he was bold still but Fíli preferred to think he had gained some sense since then - and weary of his family acting as if they were mere quests in Blue Mountains and _not home_. There had always lingered a sense of not belonging around his family. How could there not be, when the first memory Fíli had of his parents and Thorin was of them standing on a stony balcony in Iron Hills, wishfully staring into the distance. They had hummed a sad, hopeful tune under their breath that Fíli by now knew by heart.

When the dwarrows of Erebor had arrived to Blue Mountains after the destruction caused by Smaug, Naín son of Grór had welcomed Thorin, Thráin and their people with open arms. Of course they were all Durin’s folk; it’s not like they could have turned their backs to one another but it didn’t make the travelers any less grateful. The survivors of Erebor - at least those who had not scattered along the way to safety - settled within Blue Mountains to the best of their ability. However, very early on it had became obvious that the halls of Iron Hills were not built to harbor citizens of two major dwarvish cities. Soon enough some of the families had decided to find their future elsewhere while some of them had turned their eyes to Khazad-dûm.

There had already been rumors around that time, whispers of _Thráin the Desperate_ and _Thráin the Misfortunate_. But no matter how others saw the war for Khazad-dûm, the truth was there had never been a choice for Thráin. His people were suffering. Iron Hills were overpopulated and much too crowded.

His people had been without a home.

And in his likeness, the same fire had never gone out in Thorin’s eyes. And so, Thráin, Thorin and Náin had marched to reclaim the old home of their ancestor. As far as Fíli knew, Náin was killed by Azog in the battle of Azanulbizar after which Daín son of Náin became the lord of the dwarrows of the Iron Hills in Wilderland.

Of course the dwarrows of Blue Mountains were not the only ones to suffer horrible losses. As if left behind as a reminder, the death count of that battle still to this day manages to bring a foul taste into the mouths of those who had survived. Thráin had disappeared within the havoc of battlefield and was never seen after that. Many claimed him dead but never said that in the presence of Thorin who swore his father was still alive and chased the rumors of him all over Middle-earth. But no matter how fiercely Thorin claimed this to be true, no matter how long and hard he had searched amongst survivors and the fallen, it was not in his destiny to find his father. But despite his desperate actions the dwarrows had named him Oakenshield for he had been nothing but heroic in the battle in which he had took part even in his young age of 53.

After that fateful battle most of what was left of the ex-citizens of Erebor then decided to leave Blue Mountains for good and find their fortune elsewhere. Finally the halls of Iron Hills quieted because of the huge amount of fallen warriors in Khazad-dûm and because of the dwarrows moving out, and while others remained angry and clung to the past, Fíli’s mother had always been one to look forward to future. Fíli and Kíli were both born during the quieter, peaceful years of Iron Hills.

During the years of the brothers growing up Thorin had never spoken of his plans of reclaiming Erebor but it wasn’t a major leap for anyone that the idea had never completely wilted in his head. While the years in Blue Mountains were a happy time for most of Thorin’s family and folk, the fire stubbornly refused to grow cold in Thorin’s heart.

He would stare at the maps with a deep frown on his face and tell Fíli and Kíli stories of the beauty of Erebor. He would talk about endless streams of gold that ran over the walls of the mountain and of deep caverns that were lined with sapphires and silver. But what really struck Fíli and Kíli to their cores was the way their uncle had talked about the sense of belonging, the feeling of being home and of how happy the members of their lineage had been for centuries while inhabiting Lonely Mountain.

So when Thorin had one day stormed back to Iron Hills and told them on his plans with the wizard, there hadn’t been much to hold Fíli and Kíli from joining the quest. Dís had of course tried her best to keep her boys out of harm’s way - oh, all the raging and cursing had shook mountains - but they were both old enough to make their own decision and mistakes, not to mention that they were more than eager to take up the chance to prove themselves as worthy descendants of Durin, just like their uncle had done time and time again. Fíli and Kíli were both skilled warriors even though they weren’t the most experienced ones. They had sharp eyes and stamina and they were fiercely loyal to their uncle and to their cause.

And now they were actually at the foot of Lonely Mountain and yet all could already be lost.

When they would reach Erebor they might find the scorched remains of their late companions - if there was anything to be found, the dragon might have just eaten their bodies for all they knew - or their splattered remains across the walls or the floor where Smaug the Terrible had crushed them where they stood.

Whatever they would find, Fíli had a vague feeling it wasn’t going to be any good. He had never anticipated that reclaiming their home would lead to the deaths of so many. How would he and Kíli be able to enjoy those vast halls and riches when their family members and closest friends had died because of it? Who would want to live in a place that stunk so heavily of sacrifice?

Slowly Fíli opens his blue eyes and looks at their path upwards by the side of the mountain from where he lies in brown grass. There would still be some way to go. They should definitely hurry. If anyone from Thorin’s company had survived the vengeance of oh-so-rudely awakened Smaug they would without a doubt be injured and every minute spend on the route was a minute wasted.

Yawning widely, Fíli rolls on his side and turns to look at his companions in the early morning’s light. They were all still snoring softly. Bofur had his hat tipped over his face so there was nothing but his open mouth visible. Óin was snoring the loudest, grumbling every once in a while in his dreams, and Kíli was snuggled against Fíli’s back. Not too close, but close enough to calm them both in the middle of the night when they awoke from a nightmare where the other had died. It happened disturbingly often these days. And then there was Saaga. The girl had cocooned herself into a thin blanket and curled into a tight ball next to Bofur.

The northern woman was a mystery that just refused to unfold.

When Saaga had first stumbled upon their company she had looked vastly different. Her skin had been silky and smooth, and pale-white as that of a ghost. Her eyebrows had been a stark, defined contrast to everything else, surrounded by a cloud of tangled brown hair. Her clothing had been bizarre to say the least, and the way she had spoken had been painfully clearly foreign. Later on, it had been a quiet discussion between dwarrows during many nights, to try and place their guesses as to where the small woman actually came from, but so far their curiosity had been fruitless. They all had their own secrets of course, so they had to allow Saaga to keep hers. The only thing that hadn't changed during the journey was her unbelievable ability to conquer the toughest challenges through sarcasm, lame jokes and cackling laughter.

And without noticing, Fíli had found himself drawn into her company.

Fíli hadn’t thought much of her when Saaga had first joined their company. She had been decently behaved, she had kept up with their pace and kept mostly to herself. Fíli hadn’t really understood why Thorin had been so angry at Saaga and Master Baggins for joining the company because it really did no one any good; they had been allowed to come and there was nothing else to it. But, as always, he had followed his uncle’s guidance and refrained from talking to the pair.

Until Misty Mountains, it turned out.

Very quickly it had became evident that Saaga hadn’t been expecting to be placed in such dangers and discomforts as icy rain, giants, near deaths and damp mountain caves. Her hands had shook and blood had been drained from her face but still she had been determined enough not to let anyone see her weakness and had turned her back towards them at the moment of breaking. It had been Kíli who had inclined his head towards her, and in the end calmed her down.

” _I’m going to die in this strange world, far away from home_ ,” Saaga had whispered through her gritted teeth, and Fíli had felt pity towards the woman. While for the rest of them - maybe excluding Master Baggins - this was a matter of heart and honor, Saaga had been forced to come along because that was the only way she could keep in contact with Gandalf who, for some reason, the girl claimed was her only lead home. She shouldn’t have even been there with them from the beginning.

And then there had been goblins and one of those bastards had punched Saaga and Fíli had seen red.

_How dare they touch an innocent woman! How dare they lay a finger on her! How dare they injure a member of his uncle’s company!_

Later on when he thought back on that time he remained surprised by his strong reaction. Partly it had been because of the shock and fear of course - at the time it had seemed they would all lose their lives within that mountain - and partly it had been because of the realization that Saaga had no idea how to fight nor use a weapon. She had been completely clueless. While they all had been under the impression that _in the North_ women were also guided in the ways of swordsmanship, it seemed that they had either misunderstood or Saaga had lied.

Thus, Fíli had been ready to rip every single goblin apart with his bare hands for laying their hands on someone who couldn’t even defend herself. In his head, Fíli of course knew that he should never expect such courtesy from dark creatures but that didn’t mean he couldn't feel cross with them. Either way, Saaga had proven herself afterwards to be strong enough to land a few punches and stab a couple of goblins. She had done pretty good for a rookie and more than deserved those pats on her shoulders after the whole affair.

When they had managed to reach the Carrock, with a few scrapes but at least alive, there had been a heated discussion as to what to do with her while Saaga had went to have a wash.

” _We need to send her back to Rivendell. Immediately, if possible and if not, then to leave her in next village of Men. We need to find her a safe place and continue on our way_ ,” Dori had said to Thorin. ” _This journey is no place for a lady. This is no place for someone who cannot even use a knife, let alone a sword. It’s too dangerous. What if one of us gets distracted while trying to protect her?_ ”

Thorin had been quiet for a long time, stroking his short beard. To everyone’s surprise it had been Ori who had raised his voice against his brother: ” _But she is doing so well. I know we are all worried about her safety, especially Dori, you know you have soft spot for her, but lady Saaga has proven herself strong enough to continue._ ”

” _Aye, the lass is strong. Ya should stop fussing over her, Dori. The girl is more than capable of taking care of herself_ ,” Bofur had nodded and Bifur had quickly confirmed his brothers words through angry Iglishmêk. ” _Bifur very much agrees. Says he saw her kill goblins in Misty Mountains._ ”

” _Kill?_ ” Glóin had barked angrily. ” _Aye, she managed to take a life, but in what way! Glad the lass managed to stab them with the right end of the knife, wasn’t sure if she knew which end was the pointy one_.”

” _But she did kill them_ ,” Ori stresses again, ” _which means she can do it again. She just needs some practice._ ”

” _There ain’t time to give the lass any lessons! Let’s just leave her to a safe place. Will be good for her and good for us. We have enough to worry as it is_.” Glóin had huffed after his own words and stared down at everyone else, challenging them to speak against him. The arms he had crossed had bulged from muscle like in a wordless threat.

” _And what will you do, Glóin son of Gróin, when there are riddles on the door of Erebor that you cannot even begin to guess at as they are not visible to you?_ ” Said Gandalf who had joined their conversation suddenly. ” _Lady Saaga has been blessed. She might even be able to see the keyhole if you miss the last light of Durin’s day. She is, for the lack of better word, your insurance of getting into Erebor._ ”

A contemplative silence had fallen after that.

” _I don’t really get all this blessed-business, Gandalf_ ,” Kíli had voiced the thought they all had. ” _How can you be so sure of that? And why her? Where does she come from? Why cannot she go home? Saaga keeps saying that but it doesn’t make any sense. Is she a criminal? Is she an exile?_ ”

At that Thorin had stirred as well. ” _Have you brought an exile amongst us, Tharkûn?_ ”

Gandalf had thundered angrily, ” _Thorin Oakenshield, do you truly believe I would bring along someone with less than agreeable character on a journey which I myself have embarked? No, lady Saaga is perfectly respectable. Something which cannot be vouched for all of you, I might add._ ” His posture hadn’t changed but it was like his entire form had twitched disapprovingly towards Nori. ” _I say she is blessed, so blessed she is. If it brings you any comfort there is a mark of Aulë on her spirit, whom you might better know by the name Mahal._ ”

At their stunned expressions, Gandalf had exhaled a cloud of pipe-smoke. ” _I will vouch for her character and worthwhileness. I believe lady Saaga might, in the end, give you a greater service than you even realize. If I were you, I would treat her with utmost respect. As to 'why her'... I do not have an answer. A mist lies over my sight. I do not know her purpose as of yet but trust me, she will be there guide us through the darkest moments._ ”

Gandalf’s words had silenced them well enough when Saaga had reappeared again from down the stream. It hadn’t _explained_ her but the dwarrows could hardly go against someone who was blessed by the Great Maker. Apparently she was special and blessed and the dwarrows had quietly agreed that if Saaga had been send to escort them on their journey, that would mean their plan was blessed by the great Mahal as well. No matter how weirdly she dressed or spoke or how strange her demands on boiling their drinking-water were, they would not refuse her as long as she willingly came along.

But now that Fíli looks at Saaga’s shaking shoulders, he cannot say the journey has agreed upon her. Perhaps they should have followed Dori’s and Glóin’s advice.

There had appeared what seemed to be permanent dark circles under her brown eyes and blue streaks of bruises now lined her face and throat. Saaga’s skin had turned into a darker shade as sun had mercilessly shone on her face and it had brought forth a few freckles on her button-nose, not to mention that her hands had toughened up and hardened. There were scrapes and wounds all over her as well, though Óin had managed to treat most of them. It wouldn’t have done them any good if Saaga’s wounds had gotten infected.

Groaning, Fíli finally rolls on his feet and awakes everyone with gentle nudges on their shoulders, and a bit rougher one for Óin as the old healer was known to be a heavy sleeper. Lastly Fíli crouched to Saaga’s side and gently shakes her.

”Wake up, Saaga. We have to move soon.”

The woman mumbles something incomprehensible under her blanket and when she rolls on her back, a lump makes itself known in Fíli’s throat. Saaga’s face is paler than normally but the skin covering her cheekbones looked flushed from fever. She is shaking and trembling and there was a moist sheen on her temples.

”Òin!” Fíli roars and immediately everyone is spurred into action. ”Óin! Some help!”

Fíli brushes the strands of brown hair away from the woman’s face. Her eyes roll towards him, barely focusing, her labored breathing making her whole body shake. Kíli rushes to their side and sucks in a breath when he sees Saaga.

”Hey poppet,” Kíli says over his brother’s shoulder, ”you don’t look so good. Thankfully we have Óin traveling with us. Lucky you, huh?”

Saaga offers him a cracked smile and pulls the blanket tighter around her.

Fíli suddenly felt like an idiot. Yes, he had been right that the journey from Laketown to Erebor would be tough for all of them as they weren’t exactly well prepared and there grew nothing which they could have burned to make a fire during the nights. The dwarrows had been cold and miserable for the last few days so it must have been awful for Saaga who wasn’t made of as hardy stuff as the rest of them.

Deciding that it was high time to correct the mistake, Fíli sheds his ragged, brown jacket off and places it over Saaga’s blanket. He doesn’t speak but he does hope his worried and guilty expression was enough to tell the girl that he was sorry for any misfortune they might have caused by simply being inconsiderate. Just a tiny bit amused, the corners of Saaga’s lips twitch upwards at Fíli’s face, and there is a flash of white teeth that proved the smile to be genuine. Fíli just tried to swallow the damned lump from his throat and turned to look at Óin.

”Well, don’t just stand there like a bunch of fools,” the healer grunts as he goes through his pouches and pockets, ”find something to burn. Doesn’t need to be much, just enough to warm the water up. Quickly now.”

Later Saaga swallows the tea, spluttering and liquid dripping down her chin, as she coughs. Worriedly Óin shares looks with Fíli.

”She mustn’t strain her body in this condition. I don’t think this is too serious tough, the girl probably caught a cold from damp clothes and mountain wind. This isn’t a place for dainty little beings like her.”

”Call me dainty once more and I’ll detach something from you,” Saaga croaks irritatedly and daps her chin dry on the edge of a blanket.

”Good, keep that spirit up,” Óin pats the top of her head and turns to pack his things. Fíli crouches next to him, his eyes trailing up the path they were supposed to cover today.

”What are we going to do?”

”Well,” Óin grunts, ”I guess we have tree options. We could just leave her here but I don’t think any of us is up for that. We could turn back and return to Laketown and wait until she regains her strength. Or,” he now looks into same direction as Fíli - uphill towards the top of the mountain, ”we could carry her.”

Contemplatively Fíli looks at their belonging and scratches his mustache.

”We don’t have nothing to build a stretcher from.”

Óin shrugs at him.

”The old-fashioned way then.”

Fíli nods in agreement and returns to Saaga’s side where Bofur and Kíli have taken a seat.

”-think we’re almost there. Just hang on, alright?”

”Kíli,” Fíli says sternly as he gently rolls his jacket and Saaga’s blanket of off her even as she whines softly from cold, ”I need you to rip up one blanket and use it to tie her on my back. Here Saaga, put this on.”

Bofur and Fíli gently help the groaning woman into Fíli’s jacket. Apparently the fever had made her muscles stiff and achy and thus Saaga’s movements were sluggish and careful. When her head pops out of the neck-hole she immediately crosses her arms, teeth clattering. She looked truly pathetic in Fíli's large shirt.

”Yer gonna carry her?” Bofur asks seriously, eyeing up the path. ”That ain’t gonna be easy. We should take turns.”

”Why don’t I carry her?” Kíli asks, and instantly he and Saaga share smiles. ”I don’t mind.”

”Out of question. Yer still healing,” Óin immediately snaps at the young prince. Kíli very much looked like he wanted to stuck his tongue out at the healer but just didn’t dare.

”It’s fine, I’ll do it. I said that I would carry you if I must when you were sick,” Fíli mutters to his brother, ”and I will offer her the same courtesy.”

Fíli almost expected to get laughed at or at least become a target for few snarky comments but surprisingly no one resists. Instead, Saaga is staring at him with a strange expression on her face.

”I think her fever is rising,” Bofur says worriedly, ”her face is warmer than a minute ago.”

”Shut your cake-hole, Bofur,” Saaga snaps but rest of her sentence is drowned under her coughing.

It takes them some time to strap Saaga on Fíli back as if she were a giant backpack but all in all it was surprisingly comfortable. While Saaga of course muttered the whole time how she was perfectly capable of walking on her own and how she was already feeling better, Óin’s angry grunts soon silenced her useless protests.

* * *

 

”I am so, so, _so sorry_ , Fíli,” Saaga whispers tiredly after a few hours of walking. ”This is so incredibly embarrassing.”

Fíli huffs and manages to wipe some sweat off his face onto his shoulder. It was tiring to carry the woman while trying to prevent his hair and sweat from blinding his sight.

”It’s not like you got sick on purpose,” Fíli says and grunts as he climbs over a large rock. He heaves Saaga higher on his back and continues walking, determinedly staring upwards. ”Besides, you’re part of the company now. It’s not like we could just _leave_ you.”

”It was that bloody dip in the river that caused this. That water wasn’t warm, let me tell you,” she whispers against his ear. Her breath is cool against Fíli’s heated skin and it sends goosebumps trailing down his arms. Saaga smelled heavily of sickly-sweat and dirt, but somehow Fíli couldn’t find a single reason heavy enough to cease his intention of carrying this bordering-on-rude, impish woman all the way Erebor.

For the longest time Saaga remains quiet, only her breathing being the cue that she was indeed still conscious. Fíli could feel the heat radiating from her body as fever made her whole frame tremble. To break the silence and distract them both, he starts the conversation about the first topic that happens to pop in his head.

”So, are you still sure you don’t fancy Kíli?” Fíli asks, squinting upwards the path where Kíli was running, scouting for the safest route before the rest of them. Immediately after the dwarf flinches at his badly worded question and it's implications, and hastily attempts to explain himself, ”You two seem to get along. He even volunteered to carry you.”

”I get along with pretty much everyone but that doesn’t mean I fancy them,” Saaga says and tightens her hold on Fíli’s shirt so it was easier for the dwarf to concentrate on walking instead of keeping her from slipping off.

”True. But you should know… well, everyone likes Kíli but it’s rare for him to genuinely like someone back. We meet a lot people, all the time, but none of them really _sticks_ , you know. So it’s nice to see him honestly worry about someone other than his family. It’s just that… you’re _a woman_ and… well…”

By Mahal's hairy balls, why did he even start talking about this?

Saaga is shaking at his back. Fíli frowns and turns his head to look at Saaga’s face which is right next to his own. Her breath now gently blows against his cheek, tickling his beard, but her fever bright eyes are locked at Kíli’s back far above them. In the light of the sun her eyes reminded Fíli of brown tree bark as if the woman had stared at greenery for too long and her eyes had soaked up the color.

”He is like a brother I never knew I wanted,” Saaga says with amusement. Then she tenses and turns her face just enough for them to lock eyes, ”if you don’t mind sharing, that is.”

Fíli stares.

He has stopped walking.

Her face is entirely too close.

Fíli stares into those bright brown eyes for a second before clearing his throat, turning his head away and blinking. Then he picks up the pace to catch up with the others. He goes with a cocky reply of _well I’m glad to get someone to share in the suffering_ that prompts a startled laugh out of Saaga that ends into a coughing fit.

”Why are you so worried?” The northern woman asks curiously a minute later. ”Do you think I would be an ill fit for him?”

There is no accusation in her tone nor anger nor irritation. Just pure curiosity.

”We dwarrows are different from other races,” Fíli tells her seriously and grunts from exertion as he climbs over yet another stone. ”We only settle for the One during our lives.”

” _One?_ ” Saaga gasps and Fíli can feel her shifting on his back. ”How is that even possible?”

Fíli’s answer is hard to hear from all his heavy breathing.

”Told you, we’re different from others. We love fiercely and with unyielding loyalty.”

”Well, that certainly sounds very dwarvish,” Saaga agrees slowly, ”but only _once_. So, what, when you haven’t yet met your… match, you just don’t have any love to share?”

Fíli clears his throat, once again cursing his own stupidity for starting this conversation.

”Erm, sure, some indulge into romantic affairs. But when you find your One you’re supposed to just _fit_ , it’s different from… from indulging in… _you know_. You’ve seen Glóin, right? A hundred years into that marriage and he is still just as smitten as he was on the day he met his wife. Or so I have been told. It must be true though because it’s hard to imagine him any more in love than he already is.”

They both snort at the memory of Glóin lovingly stroking the picture of his wife. Saaga falls into a thoughtful silence after that and now Fíli is really, really gritting his teeth together and cursing his own curiosity.

”Sorry to bore you with this,” Fíli says with a shrug that attempted to come across as nonchalant, ”but when there’s suddenly someone Kíli cares about I am allowed to worry. It’s kinda my job when **mother** isn’t here.”

”Yes. Yes, of course. It’s fine.”

”You actually seem shocked," Fíli remarks while huffing as he struggles up yet another gigantic boulder. "Are the ways of Men truly so different from ours? I had understood you also had life-long marriages.”

”Uh, sure. Some of us do that,” Saaga agrees, ”but _falling in love just once_ … That’s just weird.”

Fíli’s eyebrows furrow at the implications of the sentence, ”What do you mean?”

”Well,” Saaga sighs against his round ear, ”I just find it strange that you would love one person through your entire life and never get bored. Humans lives are filled with so many people, how could we pick just one amongst so many? There are different stages and different needs throughout our lives so wouldn’t it be completely unfair to expect just one person to carry out all those expectations?”

”So you… you mean you might fall in love more than once?”

His comment makes Saaga laugh softly. The woman then sighs again and leans her chin against Fíli’s shoulder, and from the corner of his eye Fíli can see Saaga close hers.

”Why, yes. We fall in love many times. Sometimes more than once during a single day.”

”Seriously?”

”Not necessarily to a different person but… yeah.”

”You make Men sound extremely frivolous.”

”I guess you could see it that way,” Saaga mumbles, now half asleep, ”but that’s what we are. Brightly shining candles, remember? While we burn we go all out but it might not last for very long.”

”Like your lives.”

”Yeah,” Saaga agrees tiredly and without Fíli knowing, watches him from under her heavy eyelids, ”just like our lives.”

* * *

While Fíli had carried the woman he couldn’t not pay attention to Saaga’s wrists that were crossed over his chest. There were red, angry lines crisscrossing around the skin and eschar forming over those teeny-tiny cuts that were without a doubt caused by a rope rubbing against skin. He had gritted his teeth and swallowed the questions that burned his mind while his imagination painted pictures in his head that had made Fíli’s skin crawl.

A few nights ago Saaga had basically begged them not to talk about these things and Fíli had allowed her the privacy to go through whatever it was that she was going through without them sticking their large noses into her business. However, now that Fíli looked at her, he couldn’t help but feel that he should have pressed harder.

Saaga is twitching and moaning softly, her eyelids fluttering from fever dreams. Her fingers move in jerking motions, a thin layer of sweat glimmering on her forehead and head snapping from one direction to another.

Saaga’s fever had risen when Bofur had carried her during the evening time. She had lost consciousness at some point, face lax and head drooping, and Óin had immediately ordered them to stop for the night. All of their jackets had been piled over her shaking body and more hot liquid poured down her throat but Saaga had remained limp in Bofur’s arms.

”Nothing we can do. Let her sleep through the night and we’ll see what’s the situation in the morning. The lass is too reckless I say, not taking proper care of herself. This dainty little thing, I swear by my beard...,” Óin had muttered and then settled down to sleep himself. Soon enough Fíli, Kíli and Bofur had followed his example after throwing a couple of exhausted and anxious looks in Saaga’s direction.

At some point of the night Fíli had jolted awake when Saaga had muttered something incoherent in her sleep. Tiredly, his thighs still burning from the exercise of yesterday, Fíli had crawled next to Saaga and taken a seat by her side. He wasn’t exactly sure why he needed to move there but maybe, just maybe, Saaga would sense that Fíli was there now, to protect her from all the evil that haunted her.

She wouldn't have to be so scared anymore.

Truth to be told, Fíli really missed the conscious Saaga. He missed chatting cheerily between her and his brother and his friends. The nights around a campfire with all of their company had been some of the most memorable nights of his life. And Saaga had done her part entertaining them.

She had told them strange stories of princesses falling asleep while dragons guarded them from a prince, who would awake the princess from the eternal slumber. She had fallen over from laughter at Fíli’s and Kíli’s stories of their mischievous childhood. In turn, Saaga had caused them to roar in laughter more than once herself, one very memorable time being when she had tried to talk a squirrel to give her it’s acorn. The mission to test the limits of her language skills hadn't been all that success, as the acorn had been thrown at her head along with some very angry squeaks and twitters.

Fíli hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks. He had laughed so hard his muscles had ached and he had had to lean on his brother's shoulder for balance.

Just the bare memory makes him smile any time.

”Fíli,” Saaga rasps out suddenly and grasps his arm with enough force to almost startle Fíli out of his thick skin. Saaga was quiet for a moment before her eyes flew wide open. Cursing under his breath, Fíli wills his started heartbeat to calm down.

"What is it? Are you feeling better?"

”F-fíli, please.”

Now Saaga rolled on her stomach, causing the blankets and jackets to bundle at her side. Her face was pale as that of a strangled person and eyes red-rimmed. She trembled and shuddered as she dragged herself closer to the dwarf. She looked like she was in agony and shock. Her lower lip trembles, causing her to stutter.

”Fíli, don’t let them. Please, please, don’t let them.”

” _Shh!_ What are you talking about? There is nobody here. Just go back to sleep, Saaga.”

Fíli gently pushes Saaga down from her shoulder, and being as weakened as she was, Saaga went down with the force, crumbling helplessly on to the ground. The woman sucks in a hasty breath and sobs, her nimble fingers curling around the rough fabric of Fíli’s trousers.

” _Please_ ,” Saaga sobs and suddenly her brown eyes fill up with tears which makes the bottom of the dwarf's stomach drop. She raises her gaze to look Fíli in the eye which only manages to make it a million times worse for having to stare straight at her fear stricken expression. ”Please, don’t let them. _Fíli, please!_ ”

”By Durin’s beard,” Fíli mutters in shock, staring down at Saaga with wide eyes.

”Don’t- don’t-.. please,” Saaga cries desperately, now openly sobbing, as she scrunches her eyes shut and lets her mouth fall open. There are wet blotches on Fíli trousers where Saaga’s tears have landed and being as clueless as he was, Fíli throws a look towards their traveling companions, wondering if he should wake up Óin.

Where had this all came from? 

”They’re coming for me,” Saaga chokes out, now gripping the hem of Fíli's shirt with enough force to turn her knuckles white, ”I’m so scared. Help me,  _please._ ”

Help her? How in the name of Mahal could _Fíli_ help her? Wouldn't Óin be the better choice?

Nevertheless, Fíli pulls Saaga's blanket that had slid off higher over her shoulders, and pets her dirty hair. Awkwardly he continues to do so until Saaga slowly calms down, her moist breath and tears staining the fabric above Fíli's knee.

This is the best he can offer. It had worked on Kíli when he had been younger and high on fever, rolling restlessly around the bed as if to escape from invisible monsters. It had worked on him, so why not on her. 

Fíli counts her breaths and watches her pulse slow down in the veins on her exposed, bruise-streaked neck.

When he raises his eyes towards their companions, three pairs of worried, alert and gleaming eyes meet him from the darkness before settling back to sleep.

 

* * *

  

”What do you think they did to her?”

”What do orcs usually do to females during a raid?”

Bofur’s words ring in Kíli’s ears. He shoots a pained look towards the miner and then at the back of his golden haired brother who was once again carrying Saaga on his back.

When he himself had battled through the fumes of fever, he had thought he had imagined Saaga there but no, against all odds the woman had stayed and slowly, in that destroyed wooden house in Laketown, it had finally sunken through Kíli’s thick skull that the woman was indeed alive. Beaten and bruised Saaga had fought her way back to them. He hadn’t spared much thought for it in that chaotic situation - with the dragon flying over them and all - other than a wave of relief and joy of seeing their friend again. Now he was starting to wonder what had really happened.

”Can’t we _do_ something? Óin, isn’t there anything we can do?”

The old healer doesn’t raise his gaze from the ground but Kíli can see his jaw tick under his beard.

”I’m doing what I can, lad. But there ain’t much to go with,” he waves towards the desolation around them, ”but if we can get the lass as far as Erebor, I think we have a fair chance. If that blasted lizard hasn’t gotten into infirmary there might still be medicine left. Something to bring the fever down.”

”It’s bad, ain’t it,” Bofur says in defeated voice.

”Aye. But I think the worst of it was last night. If the lass can pull through… it can only get better or worse from here.”

”Well, her hallucinations aren’t making it any easier to cope,” Bofur mutters and wipes some sweat from his brow.

”We all have our nightmares, and fever can make them come to life,” Óin grunts. ”The lass is clearly experiencing trauma. It can make things seem far worse than they actually are.”

Kíli sucks in a hopeful breath, ”So you mean… she might not have been… they might not have… they might have spared her from..?”

”I believe she would fare far worse if that had been the case. From what I saw before, the lass was capable of walking without any major pain at least.”

The three of them shoot a look towards the woman.

”So it might just be the fever,” Kíli announces hopefully.

”With some additional trauma,” Bofur offers hopefully.

”Aye, well. Ya would have to ask the lass.”

* * *

It felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest.

Fíli’s eyes went wide at the first sight of the entrance of Erebor for it seemed that the opening split the whole mountain right open. On the left there were the ruins of Dale, once a bustling market city right in the shadow of mountain that was now a mere ghost-town. On the right there were the great gates, carved from stone of the mountain itself with two massive dwarven warriors on both sides, eternally guarding the kingdom of Durin’s folk.

”Saaga, look,” Fíli breathes in excitement after reaching their destination. It had taken them almost a week. ”We’re here.”

Saaga groans, blearily lifting her head from Fíli shoulder. With difficulties because of the rheum that had almost glued her eyes shut, Saaga cracks an eye open. She doesn’t hold much interest for the gates however, as her head felt like it was ready to roll off her shoulders.

”It’s pretty,” she agrees faintly, prompting a hollow chuckle from her friends.

When they actually go through the impressive gates, they realize they are high enough for the snow to cover the rock floor. As the light of the morning shines from behind their backs, it looks like the insides of the mountain were just a dark, gaping pit with rock boulders and rubble covering the entrance.

”Hello!” Bofur shouts into the darkness, only hearing his own echo answer. ”Bombur? Bifur?” Bofur's voice cracks just a little bit, betraying his fears. ”Anybody?”

Bofur, Kíli and Óin make a run for it, eager to find their friends, and without missing a beat Fíli followed closely behind.

”Let me down,” Saaga hisses and wriggles on his back, ”I can walk.”

This was the culmination of their whole journey and Saaga would be damned if she would have to be carried over the finish line.

”You sure?” Fíli asks and gently lets the woman slide off his back. He doesn’t let Saaga get far however, lifting her arm over his shoulders.

”I can walk!” Saaga glares at him but her pale face and labored breathing break the facade of healthiness.

”You say that now, you stubborn woman,” Fíli mutters back as they resume on walking, ”but if I know anything about my ancestors, they love their staircases. Would be a shame if I had to drag you all the way here just to have you fall over one.”

Later, Saaga reluctantly agrees that Fíli had been right.

_In all seriousness, did no one in Middle-earth appreciate a proper railing on their stairs?_

Other than a vague irritation for the lack of railings, Saaga couldn’t help but feel awed about the whole place. Everything was masterfully carved from stone and not with just skill but obvious love for the craft. Who knew you could carve rock into shapes of rope and flowers and complex tribal-designs, and in such massive proportions nonetheless?

And then there was one other thing specifically that demanded her attention.

”God, it stinks in here,” Saaga whispers to herself, turns her head away from Fíli to silently gag.

”Wait!”

Suddenly a shouts echoes eerily around them, making the small company freeze.

”Oh, I know that voice!” Bofur whispers in awe and breaks into a run at the same time as his mouth breaks into a huge grin.

”Wait!”

”It’s Bilbo!”

”He’s alive!”

And true to Bofur’s words the hobbit appears from around the corner, wearing the same tattered blue coat with some dirt on his face, but amazingly enough very much alive.

”Bilbo”, Saaga chokes at the sight of her small friend, her face splitting into a wide smile for the first time in what felt like years.

”Sweet Yavanna,” Bilbo stops on his tracks, staring at her like he has seen a ghost. Saaga was starting to get used to this. ”You’re alive.”

”Bilbo!” Saaga breaths out and takes a stumbling step forward but immediately her knees buckle and she almost falls right on her face. She would have, had Fíli and Kíli not grasped her shoulders and held her upright.

”Whoa, easy poppet,” Kíli exhales shakily. ”You’re in no condition to get exited like that.”

”You, shut your gob,” Saaga laughs breathily at Kíli and then she has her arms full of Hobbit.

The best. Feeling. Ever.

Saaga inhales Bilbo’s earthy smell shakily, holding him in as tight grip as she could.

_Gosh, how have I missed this tiny ball of mischief!_

”You’re alive!” They both then exclaim next, gripping each other’s shoulders and beaming.

”And you’re burning up,” Bilbo then adds, his expression melting into one of concern.

”Then everybody else is alive too?” Bofur impatiently asks. ”My brothers? My brothers, are they alive?”

”Everybody is fine! Fine, and dandy, and- and-.. No! We need to leave. We all need to leave! Nobody is listening to me.”

”We only just got here,” Bofur says with evident confusion.

”I’ve tried talking to him but he just won’t listen.”

”What do you mean, laddie?”

” _Thorin!_ ” Bilbo says with surprising fervor, a haunted look falling upon his face. They all startle at his loud words, most of all Óin who had unfortunately turned his ear-trumpet towards the Hobbit at the exact moment. ”Thorin, Thorin, he isn’t- he isn’t listening. He’s been down there for _days_. He doesn’t eat. He barely sleeps. He’s not been himself, not at all. It isn’t normal.”

”What’s wrong with him?” Saaga rasps out and coughs into her sleeve. Apparently it acted as a cue to Fíli to heave her arm back over his shoulder and for once Saaga doesn’t complain, leaning on him like one would against a walking stick.

She was really sick, wasn’t she? Buggers.

”It’s this place,” Bilbo accuses, clearing his throat and waving around as if trying to make a point. ”I think a sickness lies on it.”

”Sickness?” Óin asks. ”If you’re talking about the lass, she has had the fever for days. It couldn’t possibly be because of… _this place_.”

”No, no, that’s not what I-.. what I meant.”

”What kind of sickness is it then?” Kíli questions.

 _Uh-oh_ , is all Saaga can think as she sucks in a deep breath and closes her eyes, already feeling tired, _I have a very bad feeling about this._


End file.
